


Fruits of the Hunt

by rawrkinjd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Bottom Eskel (The Witcher), Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Eskel Has a Big Dick (The Witcher), Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Gentle Sex, Hide and Seek, Hunters & Hunting, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Negotiations, Polyamory, Restraints, The Witcher Lore, Wreckskel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/pseuds/rawrkinjd
Summary: Every year the Order of the Witchers meet to discuss pressing matters relevant to the brotherhood. They observe a number of rituals, including the Fruits of the Hunt. Two Witchers are selected - one from the host school, and one other - to be the Fruits for that year.They have three days to get as far from the keep as possible, before the others will be set loose to hunt them. To be a Fruit is an honour; the time spent in the company of your captors cements trust between schools and establishes close bonds between its members. This year a young Eskel, with no more than a handful of years on the Path under his belt, is selected as a Fruit and he couldn't be more terrified.Young Eskel is inspired bythisbeautiful piece of art by Heyriel (Goldandlights).
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Character(s), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gaetan/Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet
Comments: 362
Kudos: 365
Collections: Vipurr: A Collection of Cat and Snake in Love (or just Murder Husbands)





	1. To Bear the Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [round_robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel is selected as the Fruit offered by the School of the Wolf, and the other schools arrive at Kaer Morhen.

Every year the Order met in one of its many keeps scattered across the face of the Continent. They discussed pressing matters of monster distribution, set the price of different contracts, and hashed out the Order's stance on the day's political messages. Neutrality wasn’t as black and white as many thought. It was tedious work, and the gathered Witchers quickly became restless and testy, lashing out at each other for even the most minor of slights.

In the first few meetings, there'd been several fatalities. The elders set up tournaments to exhaust their younger escorts, but that still left them free in the evenings to squabble and fight. Crammed into close quarters, with nothing but cards and alcohol to occupy them, it felt like the entire summit was circling a dancing star bomb every night. 

So, alongside the tournaments, they set up the Fruits of the Hunt. A ritual intended to reinforce interschool bonds acknowledges the need for healthy competition and establishes trust layers. The Hunt itself was thrilling; something to focus on and look forward to for the first few days while the various attachés arrived, and the Fruits would give the Witchers something to occupy themselves within the evening should they feel highly strung. It removed two schools from circulation, thinning the crowd, easing tensions, and established close links deeper even than blood and mutagen.

There were rules, of course. A Fruit had to be treated with care like their namesake, lest relations between the two schools be bruised and ruined for all time. Brutality was punished harshly by the elders and, outside the ritual combat expected between Fruit and captors at the end of the Hunt, was absent from the process.

The host school and one other of their choice put forward a candidate for the Hunt. They had three days to get as far away as they could, covering their tracks, gathering supplies, and then the elders would release their younger companions to hunt them. The school that captured the Fruit got to keep him in their private chambers for the entirety of the summit. On the final evening, he was strapped down on plush cushions in a side room and free to all those that had behaved well enough to be present at the Last Dinner. This part was important. All could see how well the Fruit had been treated; how strong and eager his body still was. They’d feed him food and wine by hand and worship him until he was exhausted and spent.

The elders didn't expect it to work. It was a frivolous thing; an act of sheer desperation in a bid to keep the peace long enough to get important work done. They were pleasantly surprised. 

The Hunt became the highlight of the entire summit. Witchers, who'd kept their heads low when their elders were looking for volunteers to escort them, now clambered to be one of the four to accompany the ambassadorial trip. It was a chance to test themselves against one of the most fearsome monsters on the Continent - another Witcher - and then to indulge in their carnal fantasies for a few days with a warm, strong body they wouldn't break, surrounded by trusted friends. 

The year Eskel was chosen as a Fruit his heart fell through the bottom of his chest. Every set of yellow eyes in the Grand Hall looked round at him; his name scrawled on the flimsy piece of parchment now held in Vesemir's hands. Not a single murmur of noise rose from the gathered members of the school as they awaited his reaction; this was intended to be an honour, but those that knew Eskel well could already read the horror and shock in his expression. The School of the Wolf were the hosts this year; they always chose their Fruit by lot from Witchers of the appropriate age. It was down to fate rather than politics that way. And fate had chosen the member of their school who would enjoy the duty the least.

Vesemir frowned down at the neat handwriting and then sighed. He lifted stern eyes to his pup. Eskel was broad and strong; his hands roughened by the toil of the Path and his face marred by his past, yet beneath that neutral expression he now put on for the rest of the school was a soft heart that now thundered with fear. "You have four days to prepare, Eskel. We'll send you out the front gates with the School of the Cat's candidate."

That night Eskel sobbed in his bed. The fear welled up from his chest until it was dizzying, and his stomach nauseous. Shaking hands couldn't hold still enough to sort through the alchemy vials and assorted resources he'd need to survive the Hunt. He was allowed his swords, a hunting knife, a bedroll and a backpack of supplies to keep him going. The longest a Fruit had lasted four days. Most of them didn't try too hard; the endgame was inevitable, and the vast majority were keen for it to start. Three days of comfort, good food and sex whenever you demanded it.

Except, Eskel had never _had_ sex. Not fully. His encounters with women on the Path tended to be a quick handjob or, if he were lucky, she’d use her mouth. It was mostly his own right hand and a good imagination, and that was enough for his, quite frankly, limited libido. Since receiving the scars on his face two years ago, his contact with others had remained purely platonic. Who’d want to fuck _him_ looking as he did? His lack of confidence and others’ prejudice had left him in a peculiar situation. By the standards of this Hunt, he was more or less untouched.

The idea that his first experience was to be in strangers' hands made his chest feel tight. Would they be patient with him? Would they hurt him by accident? What would they expect him to do? How did he need to behave? Every whore he’d ever been with had informed him they _knew what Witchers were like_ ; the reputation preceded them. _Rough, monstrous, uncaring._ But Eskel had no choice; his body would be at their mercy. If he made a fuss and tried to decline, he’d be the first Witcher in the Hunt's history not to fulfil his role, which made him feel _worse_. His duty was to give a good hunt and then a good service afterwards. The first was no problem - he was a skilled Witcher, he would outfox them at every turn - but the second terrified him in more ways than he cared to acknowledge. For the next few days, he shut himself away in his room and sat in the very corner, his knees gathered to his chest and tried not to let his mind spiral.

***

The rest of the schools arrived in the days that followed. They tended to ascend the mountains together. A fearsome, mutant army that even the Nilfgaardians gave a wide berth to when they swept across the Continent from their homes. It was the one time when townsfolk kept their mouths shut and were quick to produce the appropriate amount of coin should there be a contract fulfilled on the witchers’ journey north.

The gryphons arrived first. Kaer Seren was only spitting distance away, and they embraced the wolven elders like old friends, knightly armour clattering. Erland of Larvik was their leader, his mane of auburn hair falling in waves around his wizened face; he’d brought Keldar with him, master monster tutor, and Geralt practically vibrated with excitement at the prospect of talking with him. Jerome, Raven and Coën were the youngsters chosen to attend this year. Coën slapped Lambert on the back of the shoulder and gripped Geralt’s forearm with a broad grin. It faded though when his third good friend didn’t make an appearance. “Where’s Eskel?”

“He’s a Fruit this year, resting,” Geralt replied. 

If it’d been anyone else - Geralt, Lambert, Gweld - then Coën’s reply would’ve been a shout of empathetic jubilation. _What a hunt it would be!_ And then a glorious few days of comfort and passion for the lucky man. But he knew Eskel; knew the shade of his heart and the way he would’ve reacted to the news. “Ahh, then gods’ speed to him. I hope he’ll come to see us before he’s sent out.”

The cats were next. Their leader, Treyse, strutted through the open doors of the hall in his finest armour, with Guxart at his right hand and young Tess nipping at his heels, her black hair wound tightly behind her head in a bun. Aiden had managed to get on the team for this summit and tackled Lambert to the floor the moment he stepped across the threshold. Gaetan swaggered in barely a breath later, immediately sizing up Lambert and Geralt once the first had extracted himself from the floor. “Guess you’ll be huntin’ your boy then, won’t you?”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “You know we’re not allowed to. Host schools don’t hunt; you’re just tryin’ to be a dick,” he smirked. “Not that I’d fancy your runty ass anyway, to be honest. Guess you’re the Fruit?”

Gaetan smirked all teeth. “Damn fucking right,” he gazed over at the gryphons, who’d gathered for cards and a drink. “If you excuse me, I need to start making my decision.” With a dismissive flutter of his hand, he headed over to the pack of preening gryphons to _evaluate_ what they had to offer.

“He genuinely thinks he’s got a choice in who catches him, doesn’t he?” Lambert looped an arm around Aiden’s waist.

Aiden grinned. “Don’t underestimate him. He’ll make sure he gets the exact school he wants, mark my words.”

The vipers and the bears arrived together. The animosity between the two schools since the coup against Arnaghad had left a residual bitterness even after all these years. The School of the Bear's hulking leader wore thick layers of bearskins over his armour, his head covered by its large jaw. Grayson and Junod, both as big as mountains and heavily bearded, walked at his side, with Ivo and Vanik striding in behind them. 

The cluster of tall, thickly built brutes ignored the vipers, viewing them still as traitors, who in turn turned their backs to head to their own quarters. Letho, with Auckes and Serrit, followed Ivar closely, while Kolgrim paused to greet a familiar face at the door. They bedded down quickly, the bears provided with a large communal room with several private quarters attached to allow them to escape each other should they need, and the vipers just the one due to their preference for keeping their allies close. Paranoid fuckers.

Finally, the manticore. Their leader was a tall, powerful woman by the name of Ixora. She’d overcome an attempted insurrection by the drunken lout Merten to secure her position; he followed her in now with his head bowed low. They had to come the furthest and arrived wrapped in heavy furs, shivering uncontrollably in the cold. Geralt and Lambert barely got a glimpse of their manes of braids before they disappeared into their quarters to hide under more blankets. Vesemir piled the log fires high in their rooms and left them to acclimatise; they’d be introduced properly later on. The cranes had sent their apologies; they were busy dealing with a large siren problem in Skellige and needed every man.

That was everyone then.

Kaer Morhen was a hive of activity. Rennes, Ivar, Arnaghed, Treyse, Elrand and Ixora spent most of their time in the conference, hashing out the agenda for the next few days, while the others sized each other up in the halls and courtyards of the keep. Guxart, Keldar and Barmin were the firm hands needed to keep everything from bubbling over; the first few days before the Hunt were always a little restless. Every Witcher that would be sent on the Hunt inspected their competitors, weighed them up and dismissed them. They weren’t really interested in the Hunters anyway; the Fruit really drew their attention.

No one got a good look at the wolves’ selection. While there was plenty of admiration for Gaetan, who everyone _knew_ gave a good hunt and an even better follow up, there was general intrigue surrounding the mystery wolf. Their speculation was answered a day later when all the schools gathered in the training yard.

The session was led by Vesemir, the host school’s fencing instructor, and he barked out over the gathered heads of the experienced Witchers as if they were no more than first-year trainees. The trainees themselves were allowed the morning off to watch the pros train; Varin decided it was a good experience. Everyone trained together, with Vesemir organising the pairings to avoid a diplomatic incident; bears did not go with vipers for obvious reasons, cats did not go with manticore, due to a little incident involving the killing of a dragon in the Elskerdeg Pass.

Eskel tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, but word had already got around. He could feel their eyes on him as he stepped out into the courtyard, the weight of his steel sword heavy against his palm. As if by magic, or fate, or some benevolent deity, he felt a warm, familiar hand press to the small of his back. “Deep breaths,” Geralt whispered. “It’s just like any other day.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Eskel grated back, and then looked instantly apologetic. “Anyone, I need to watch out for?” There’d been a deliberate attempt to injure a Fruit before the Hunt on one or two occasions. Technically there were no rules on it, but it was bad form. The aggressor in question had been banned from ever attending a summit again; there were rumours his medallion had been smashed in half upon his arrival back home—the _ultimate dishonour._

“No. They’re good people this year,” he glanced up at the school leaders standing on the balcony; they too were gazing down at Eskel with interest, even though they wouldn’t be partaking in the Hunt due to their position. “Vesemir paired you with a bear.” Geralt flicked his chin across the courtyard to one of the bearded mountains. “He seems alright. Just… you know where I am, yeah?”

“Sure,” Eskel followed Geralt’s gesture with his eyes and then his feet. He held his head as high as he could, shoulders squared and cleared his throat to gain his opponent’s attention. 

Junod, with his shaven head and thick beard, looked up with a raised eyebrow. His head cocked to the side, and Eskel saw the flicker of realisation pass over his face as he took in the focused attention of everyone else. “You must be Eskel,” he stated, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. 

“Yes, I’m -,” Eskel swallowed as Junod stood, managing to dwarf even _him_ by a full head height. He glanced at those huge arms, and the thickly furred chest peeking out from his gambeson and tried not to imagine what _it_ would be like if those were the hands that caught him. “We’re running drills together. You ready?”

“Of course,” Junod twirled the hilt of his sword around his hand and circled slowly. “You’re large for a wolf.” He tilted his head, inspecting Eskel’s broad shoulders and thick thighs; the wolf school's fighting style focused on a combination of agility and strength, which required a leaner form. There were complex turns and pirouettes that the School of the Bear just didn’t bother with. Heavy defence and brute force were the order of the day.

“I blame Vesemir’s cooking,” Eskel kept his eyes trained on Junod’s shoulders, with the placement of his feet in his periphery. They were meant to be practising defensive stances, but Eskel knew this would be an evaluation of his fighting style; if the bears cornered him in the wild, they’d be expected to defeat him in combat before they could claim him. 

“Your fencing instructor cooks?”

“Yeah, don’t piss him off, he’s not above spitting in your food,” Eskel coiled and noticed Junod adjust minutely, ready to defend. 

“Thank you; I’ll keep that in mind.” The bear had just enough time to marshall a defensive stance before Eskel struck. As expected, he was swift and agile, but there was a blunt force behind his technique that reminded Junod of the bear cubs at home. With a little training, Eskel would make a passable son of Haern Caduch. As the assault continued, the clash of steel joining the ringing chorus of combat around them, Junod decided Eskel would be _more_ than passable. He was relentless, focused, a touch malicious. Several times Junod had to twist and dodge blows that would’ve done more than just nicking his skin.

Even as the other combatants finished their manoeuvres, Eskel continued. His footwork impeccable, his stance tight and guarded. He felt like he had to prove something. _Prove himself._ He wasn’t just a sacrificial lamb for this cursed summit; these Witchers would respect him. Perhaps if he fought hard enough, _fiercely_ enough, they’d be too concerned to put their cocks anywhere near him lest he tear it off. The tears burned his eyes as he backed Junod towards the perimeter wall, each calculated swing gaining ground. 

More experienced than Eskel by decades, the older Witcher allowed himself to be corralled only so far. He could tell when a sparring match began teetering into a real fight and deflected Eskel’s next attack with a solid parry, followed by a swift, brutal counterattack that knocked Eskel back several paces. He didn’t take the hint though, and Junod had to break through several more blows until Eskel was thrown to the floor, his chest heaving inside his red gambeson. “Enough,” Junod rumbled.

The entire courtyard was silent. Eskel looked up at the giant man that stood over him through waves of black hair and swallowed the fear that bubbled up from his chest. The tip of his opponent’s blade rested pointedly on his chest, shifting up until the cold steel brushed the skin of his throat. “I yield,” he croaked, teeth clenching.

“Good,” Junod withdrew the blade and sheathed it on his back with a deft spin. “Here.” He offered a hand down to the young wolf sprawled out before him, but it was dismissed with a quiet sneer. Eskel rolled up and lifted his head to see _too many_ sets of eyes staring in his direction. The heat rose up his neck to the very tips of his ears, but he refused to bow his head in shame. With his chin jutted out, he snatched his sword from the ground and returned it to his back. Vesemir rotated every one to a new partner and, to Eskel’s relief and gratitude, it was Lambert’s cheeky smile that appeared before him.

“You nearly had him there, big guy,” Lambert teased. “I better up my game, or you’re going to hand me my ass in front of my man.”

Eskel, despite the tremor of fear, anxiety and misery bubbling beneath the surface, managed a smile. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“Yeah - fucking - right.”

***

“Eskel?” Geralt stepped into Eskel’s tiny room - more a cupboard, really - and closed the door quietly behind him. There was a huge heap in the centre of the bed that shuddered occasionally. Geralt could smell the salty tears in the air and wasted no time in padding over and slipping beneath the blankets. There were no words. Not yet. Geralt snaked his arms around that broad, furry chest and nuzzled between Eskel’s wide shoulders. Spooned together like this, Eskel would find comfort. It was familiar, gentle and loving—exactly everything he needed. 

“Geralt, does it hurt?”

“Huh?” Geralt looked up from where he was snuffling through the hair at the nape of Eskel’s neck.

“Cock. Does it hurt when it - ?”

“Hmm,” Geralt shuffled up, loosening his hold enough to gaze down at Eskel’s face; he’d allowed a beard to grow out, probably to make himself look a bit older, a bit more intimidating. All Geralt saw was a soft heart through honey eyes. “It can be a bit… uncomfortable at first. The key is preparation and breathing. You’ve just got to relax, and don’t let them rush you. You’ve never - ?”

“No,” Eskel grumbled. “Never find the time, and people are... well, people are weird.”

“Mmhm,” Geralt nodded and then nestled down again. He pressed his face into Eskel’s hair with a contented hum. “You know, if you wanted, we could - .”

“No,” Eskel said again, quickly this time, and latched onto Geralt's hand when he felt him tense. “I’m sorry. I just - if it hurts, or - I don’t want to associate that with you. I just - they might not even want that, and then - uh - .” Geralt let him waffle and held him tightly. When Eskel fell quiet this time, there were no tears; his broad shoulders relaxed in Geralt’s arms and his breathing levelled out as he fell asleep. 

For most, this was an honour and an opportunity to prove one’s strength and loyalty. The negotiations were important, but the Hunt bonded schools together in a way that traditional diplomacy couldn’t. The host school offered one of their own at his most vulnerable and the visitors were expected to treat him with care and respect; a sign that the link between all Witchers still existed despite the splintered factions. Geralt was more or less _certain_ that Eskel wouldn’t be hurt, that whoever caught him would mark his anxiety and treat him tenderly, but that didn’t make it any better _now._

There was one day left until the Hunt began. Geralt would be at Eskel’s side every hour until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N:_ This a long overdue dedication to round_robin, a dear friend. They had a birthday recently, and I really wasn't sure what to get them! Anywho, here we are.
> 
>  **School of the Bear:** Arnaghad, Grayson, Junod, Ivo and Vanik  
>  **School of the Cat (Second Fruit Bearers):** Treyse, Guxart, Aiden, Gaetan and Tess  
>  **School of the Griffin:** Elrand of Larvik, Keldar, Coën, Jerome and Raven  
>  **School of the Manticore:** Ixora, Virva, Fenlo, Eimlon and Merten  
>  **School of the Viper:** Ivar, Letho, Auckes, Serrit and Kolgrim  
>  **School of the Wolf (Host School):** Rennes, Varin, Barmin, Vesemir, Geralt, Eskel, Lambert and various other trainees.


	2. The Fruit Ripens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel prepares for the Hunt, Geralt seeks reassurance, the bears decide on their preferred target and... Gaetan decides on his.

Geralt watched Eskel’s anxiety skyrocket as the hours ticked by. He stayed in his room hunched over maps, tracing several potential routes; Eskel over-prepared when he was anxious. The maps were an advantage he wasn’t allowed to take with him because it was home territory; his hunters would have them instead, but there was nothing in the rules about pre-planning. “I was thinking of heading east, towards Aen Gynvael, then I can cross the Toina and destroy my trail.” Eskel tapped the blue line of the river with his forefinger.

“You could, yeah,” Geralt squinted. “But you’d have to go through forktail country, and Vesemir said they’re nesting well this year. Some are hatching more than one egg.”

Eskel smiled ruefully. “Lots of work for us next year then.”

“That’s not the point,” Geralt grumbled. “You get caught out by two forktails protecting a nest, then the hunters are going to be the least of your worries.” He paused and watched the words form in Eskel’s head; he cut them off before they were said. “ _No._ It’s not the better option.”

“Can I - ?” Eskel started, but the question petered out, and he gathered his knees to his chest again. Rather than allow his friend to curl back in on himself, Geralt reached out and tugged his forearm. A forearm that already bore a bountiful network of thin white scars.

“Talk to me,” Geralt implored. “Ask me anything.”

“When they tie me down on the last day, you’ll come and check on me, right?” Eskel glanced at Geralt furtively but looked away quickly when his ears began to burn with embarrassment. It was something he’d mulled over. In the end, the horrific shame he would feel when Geralt saw him naked and exposed in that way was completely overshadowed by his fear of doing it all alone. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Geralt grinned at first, and then it faltered. “I know you said you don’t want me to, uh - but if on that night you ask, ‘cause you might, what do you want me to do?”

Eskel’s mouth dropped open. It hadn’t occurred to him that Geralt might want to - _well, shit_. Because he had as much right as every other school member of the appropriate age, right _?_ The trainees were confined to barracks for the night but Geralt and Lambert? They would be free to enter the room and partake just as anyone else was. He swallowed and considered the question carefully, amber eyes wandering over the familiar contours of the hand that rested on his arm. “Yeah, if - if I ask, or if you - uh, if you want to.” _You might not want to come anywhere near me._ And that was one of Eskel’s main fears; that Geralt would take one look at him - strung out, bruised and sullied - and never want to be near him again.

As if he sensed Eskel's thought process take a dark turn again, Geralt leaned his forehead to his temple and made him look up. They didn’t speak but held each other’s gaze until the tension melted out of Eskel’s shoulders again. Geralt tilted his head until their noses brushed and watched Eskel’s beautiful eyes flutter, pupils widening. If his captors had any sense, they’d gentle Eskel until he was putty before trying _anything_. “Want to get some more sleep? I’ll check your bag. Knowing you, you’ve overpacked, and it’ll slow you down.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eskel smiled and finally uncurled from the floor to slump on his bed. It took all of two minutes for him to fall asleep, soft snores rising from the pile of pillows and blankets pulled haphazardly over the top of his broad frame. 

Geralt did as he promised. He checked through Eskel’s pack, replacing a few vials of potions with more food and adding just one of his favourite books from the tiny bookshelf crammed into the corner of the room. The nights would be the hardest. Eskel would worry, listening to every tiny sound, but having a small piece of home nearby would help him find rest.

Watching Eskel sleep, Geralt couldn’t help but begin to have doubts himself. He loved the bundle of dark hair, tanned skin, and warmth tucked under that blanket, and he realised that he needed just a tiny bit more reassurance that he’d come back in one piece. That the other schools wouldn’t _break_ that gentle heart with cruelty. 

Geralt left Eskel’s room and headed down the winding corridors and up spiralling stairs until he found Rennes’ office. It was a large room, with enough space for a long table and scattered armchairs to host the conference. He didn’t bother to listen at the keyhole as he had done as a boy but thumped the side of his fist on the closed-door before twisting the handle. The six school heads looked up simultaneously, with Vesemir and Guxart blinking in surprise from their post as scribes at the far end of the table.

“Geralt,” Rennes’ metallic voice barked. “What’s the meaning of this interruption?” The hour was late, but it wasn’t unusual for the meetings to go on until the early hours of the morning. Agreement between the schools was so difficult. Sometimes it was better to keep a positive thread going just to find resolution on an issue.

“I need to ask you about Eskel,” Geralt replied, adding a quiet, “sir,” for good measure. 

Ixora, closest to the fire despite the heavy fur shawl around her shoulders, tilted her head. The chimes and trinkets woven into her thick mane of braids tinkled prettily. “Your school’s Fruit,” she stated, her thick, Zerrikanian accent as smooth as the surface of a dragon’s scale. “He is your friend, hm?”

“Forgive him,” Vesemir stood up abruptly, quill and parchment discarded. “I’ll see him out.”

Rennes opened his mouth to agree, but a loud, barking laugh erupted from another edge of the table; Arnaghad was amused. “No, let the boy speak,” he grinned, revealing lines of slightly crooked, yellowing teeth. His thick, black hair fell over his weathered face, and Geralt was suddenly very glad that the elders didn’t involve themselves in any part of the Hunt. “What is it, wolf pup? Your friend wants to wimp out of his duties?”

“ _Arnaghad,_ ” Erland barked, fist thumping on the table in disgust. “You impugn the man’s honour so readily. Check yourself.”

Ivar, who’d been examining his fingernails very closely, heaved a sigh. “What do you expect from a son of Haern Caduch?”

“Fine words coming from the mouth of a backstabbing traitor,” the bear rumbled with menace, and suddenly the two school leaders were on their feet, their chests barely inches apart. “Perhaps we should settle this outside in the courtyard, Ivar?”

“I doubt you’d survive a second round, old man,” Ivar replied crisply. Rennes snapped his fingers at Vesemir who left his seat hastily to herd Geralt out of the office and back down the stairs.

“What were you thinking?” Vesemir snapped, one hand brushing back through his greying hair. In just a few years, the obsidian black would disappear completely. “It’s going to take Rennes and Erland hours to defuse that.”

“They were looking for any excuse,” Geralt growled back. Before heading onto the Path, Geralt would’ve feared punishment for his insolence, but he was a pup no longer. “Eskel’s - I just want to know he won’t be hurt. I’ve never seen him so - I’ve never seen him like he is.” If he admitted Eskel’s fear in front of Vesemir, then he’d be doing his friend a disservice. Never show weakness. _Never admit fearing._ Not directly, anyway.

Vesemir frowned. The very same look he’d worn when he’d seen Eskel’s name on that piece of paper. _Any_ other Witcher, besides Lambert, would’ve been preferable. Fate could be cruel sometimes and, although he didn’t share the same bond with Eskel as he did Geralt, Vesemir felt a certain responsibility for that particular pup too. A pup who was still quite timid, all things considered. He needed more time to _ripen._ “The Hunt is one of our many traditions. It’s an honour to - .”

“No, not the propaganda,” Geralt bit out. “The truth. Eskel hasn’t - he’s never been - they’ll be his _first._ ”

“He won’t be harmed, Geralt. Perhaps a few minor injuries if he puts up a good fight at the end, but none of the men or women in attendance this year are cruel,” Vesemir murmured. It was such an odd phrase to use. No, none of them would hurt Eskel in that way, but they’d all put hundreds of children through the mutations. “He’ll be treated with the same respect, as have all those that have gone before him, by any school that captures him.”

“Why can’t we hunt? If we captured him, we could -,” Geralt stopped abruptly as Vesemir lifted a hand.

“Not the point of the Hunt. It’s a show of trust, an act of respect; you _know_ this. Don’t be naive, boy. You’re not a child,” Vesemir sighed. “Go to bed. Preferably _your own_ ; Eskel will need a good night’s rest for tomorrow.” The older wolf watched his younger pup stalk away with clenched fists and _understood._ The knot in his stomach was a combination of worry and jealousy. Vesemir had felt the same many, _many_ years ago when Guxart was about to walk out of those gates. His young lover had been just as nervous, just as _untouched_ , as Eskel. They’d barely kissed, with a few visits to a prostitute for the use of their hand. 

The Path had a way of both weathering your soul, but keeping you _innocent_ to the ways of romantic love. Geralt and Eskel were creeping slowly through their twenties, but they were still young and fluffy compared to the long lifespans they would endure. It hadn’t occurred to Vesemir that Eskel might be quite so inexperienced. It should have. He knew how reserved he was, how tentative around his own body. 

As Geralt’s back disappeared, Vesemir returned to the meeting room. The argument had simmered down to threatening glances, and the wolf returned to his seat next to Guxart. The cat smiled. “Hmm.”

“What?” Vesemir narrowed his eyes as he picked up his quill.

“If I remember correctly, and you know how excellent my memory is,” Guxart batted playfully at the feather in Vesemir’s hands, a small purr rumbling briefly from deep in his chest. The loose curls of his brown hair fell over his face as he tilted his head, yellow eyes bright with mischief. “You too stormed the bastion of a leader’s office on the eve of my Hunt.”

“Yes, well,” Vesemir grumbled. “He should know better.” 

“Perhaps,” Guxart stretched his long legs beneath the table, his own quill scratching down some notes as the discussion at the other end of the table progressed. “The manticore were very kind to me, and they taught me _many_ things that you’ve since benefited from. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever purred as loudly as when they first introduced me to my own ass.”

“Oh, I can think of some times that might rival it,” Vesemir flashed his teeth in a mischievous smile and then looked up abruptly as someone important cleared their throat from the other end of the table.

“If you’re quite finished,” Treyse growled. “Can you note down Erland’s comment about the prevalence of forktail potentially reducing their price?”

“Of course,” Guxart bowed his head respectfully to his elder and then met Ixora’s eye. She winked at him, lower lip between her teeth, and he fought to keep his smile discreet. Yes, the manticore had treated Guxart _very_ well indeed, and Ixora, back then a member of the attaché rather than her school leader, had enjoyed every moment of his company. 

It was a shame that school politics got between them and a repeat performance. Sometimes Guxart would wager that it was their brief time together that stayed an all-out battle between the two schools over that damned reptile’s death. The Hunt had certainly proven its worth.

***

Junod gazed down at a map not dissimilar to the one Eskel had looked at earlier that evening. He ran a hand over his shaven head, fingers idly tracing the lines of the network of tattoos around his ears and neck that he knew by heart. Meanwhile, his gaze followed the map lines, trying to predict where their cub would head. Yes, _their._ Because the bout in the courtyard had affected him considerably. Fear, ferocity, but also courage. Eskel intended to fight this foe he'd conjured for himself. 

“If your face gets any longer, we’ll have to swap your medallion out for School of the Horse,” Ivo growled as he dropped down on the couch at his side. He scratched idly through his short-cropped hair and smirked.

“Your sense of humour’s shit as always,” Junod cast him a baleful glance, before slumping back and passing over one of the steins of ale. “We’re going for the bear cub; it’s been agreed.”

“He’s not a cub,” Ivo lifted the drink to his lips. “He’s a wolf pup, and we need to make sure we hunt him accordingly.”

“Looks like one though,” Grayson exited his room, the ties of his loose linen shirt billowing wide over his huge chest. “In a few years, I reckon he’ll be as big as Vanik, easily.” Due to their mutagens, Witchers matured a little more slowly than humans. Even though Eskel was in his mid-twenties, he still had some filling out to do, which made his current size even more impressive. “Agree with Ivo though, what’s the face for?”

“You weren’t close enough; you couldn’t smell him,” Junod rumbled, slumping back with a sigh. “He’s scared. _Terrified_ , in fact. He must think we’re going to tear him to pieces.”

“Well, I’d like to pull him apart, but not in that way,” Ivo grinned and then grunted as Grayson punched him on the arm. “Can’t say I blame him though. Have you seen the vipers Ivar’s brought with him this year? I saw Letho bathing. _Fuck_ , it’s like a wyvern’s tail.” There was a round of snickering and Grayson fell in one of the deep armchairs.

“So, we pursue the cub,” Grayson eyed the map. “And what if one of the other schools decides the same?”

“The vipers will go for Gaetan. He’s been flirting it up a storm, and they’re partial to a cat. The manticore are too, usually, but that fucking dragon threw everything off-kilter,” Junod shoved a stein into Grayson’s hands. Vanik was still in the springs; they were his _only_ reason for agreeing to traipse this far north. “I reckon they’ll go for the cub, and the gryphons will go for the cat. One of them views the cub as a friend and might consider it… too weird.”

“Coming from the school who chose their last Fruit because he popped a boner during meditation,” Ivo tilted his head back and grinned at the ceiling. “Alright. And you think he’ll head east?”

“I would,” Junod nodded. “He’ll risk the forktails because they’ll be a greater obstacle for us than him, and he’ll head to the water to cover his tracks. We’ll need to try and cut him off before he reaches that far south.”

“If he reaches that far south, then you’re an embarrassment to the school,” Arnhagad growled from the opening doorway. “The boy’s a virgin, by all accounts. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the cat? You could spend your three days with a bawling wolf pup on your cocks. Doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time.”

The bears all shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of their leader. It was his crass and no-nonsense attitude that had allowed him to survive for this long, but that didn’t mean they had to relish encountering it. It was Grayson that finally spoke. “He’s part cub. Looks like one, fights like one, and I heard the others say he takes Rook for the bigger contracts. If he didn’t wear that wolf head around his neck, I’d expect him to be coming home with us at the end of the summit.”

“Hmm,” Arnhagad grunted. “Very well. Good hunting then. Now give me that bottle of ale. I need to drink myself into a stupor so that I can forget Ivar’s bastard traitor face for the rest of the evening.” With that final grumble, their esteemed leader stalked off into the quarters he’d reserved for himself and slammed the door.

“All hail Arnhagad, Bear of the South,” Ivo growled and raised his stein in mock salute; the others joined him with a round of rumbling laughter.

***

Gaetan had decided on the vipers. He’d wandered down to the spring by chance one evening, seen Letho and Kolgrim bathing, and then promptly threw out his notes. They were hung like horses, and that was _soft._ The gryphons had been pulling ahead just slightly because the thought of making them blush with his antics was quite enticing, but he was a man with simple wants. And one of them was a cock he’d feel nudging at his vocal cords when he sat on it.

He sowed the seeds, if you excuse the pun, with a little bit of flirting. A few brushes of the hand here and there, and he’d spied the results of his carefully curated attentions in the bulge at the front of Auckes’ trousers the previous evening.

The morning of the Hunt dawned, and he sprang from bed the moment the sunlight kissed his windowsill. He was stretching in the courtyard, his pack propped up against the perimeter wall when sullen footfalls caught his attention. Yes, _sullen._ He hadn’t realised someone’s _walk_ could be _sullen_ until that very moment. “Cheer up, pup. It might not happen,” Gaetan smirked. “Oh, no, actually, it’s happening today.”

Eskel scowled and dropped his pack on the floor with a dull thud. “You’re an ass.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Gaetan bent down and touched his toes. “Look, kid. Can I give you some advice?” 

The word _‘kid’_ put Eskel’s hackles up. Gaetan could have only a few years on him _at the most_ , and it was clearly the cat’s way of pointing out that his beard was doing little in maturing his face. “Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna’ give it even if I say no?”

“You’re not wrong,” Gaetan smirked. “Just _relax._ This is meant to be _fun._ Think about it. We’re playing a sexy version of hide and seek that’s going to end in four men and-or women making you come more than you ever have in your life, then you get tied up with your legs spread so the rest of them can have a go too. Like… have you not _dreamed_ of - ?” Gaetan looked up and saw for the first time how the colour had _drained_ from Eskel’s face. _“Oh._ You’re fresh, huh?”

“Just fuck off,” Eskel snarled and skulked towards a stack of crates in the shadow of the wall. He sat there and waited, his chin in his hands, and watched as the balcony above the courtyard began to fill with those that would hunt him down the mountain. Coën waved at him, and he managed a smile back, but otherwise kept his head bowed. With his enhanced hearing, he could hear his name being discussed, and it made him feel sick. Suddenly, he longed to be out in the wilderness. At least there he could just pretend he was out on the Path; swords and packs on his back, his problems left in his wake. 

Rennes descended the steps, flanked by Varin and Vesemir, and approached the gates. “Today’s the day, boys,” he growled, voice like wet shingle sliding down the side of a mountain. “Do your schools proud. Outwit your opponents at every turn and know that you will be treated with reverence upon your return.” The gates of the outer walls grated open and Eskel stared into the woodlands beyond. _East. Head east._ They wouldn’t expect him to chance the forktails, right? They’d underestimate his planning. “Gods’ speed, Eskel,” Vesemir whispered as he walked by, returning to Rennes’ side. 

Gaetan, who’d been rolling his eyes at the pageantry, turned to blow a kiss at Letho - who looked rather taken aback, eyebrows heading towards his non-existent hairline - and flash two middle fingers at Treyse, before sprinting across the drawbridge and disappearing into the trees. He’d packed light, Eskel noticed. Perhaps he’d overprepared? Perhaps -? He glanced up as he caught the sight of white hair shimmering in the early morning light. Geralt gave him a little nod. Eskel knew what it meant, and his heart was fortified.

_I’ll be here for you when you get back._

With a final glance at the other schools' members gathered to watch his departure, Eskel turned and walked out of the gates. The pressure of their eyes on his back only faded when the trees closed in behind him.


	3. Harvesting the Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel and Gaetan lead their hunters on a merry chase.

Gaetan spent the first few days ambling around Kaer Morhen in a wide circle. He’d glanced at some maps, and his didactic memory had absorbed the main features of the landscape with ease. To be captured by the school he wanted, he had to ensure the others were put off his trail. By his estimations - and careful observations of his fellow Witchers - he only had the gryphons to worry about. The bears were enamoured by the thickly built wolf pup who they were probably scheming on stealing down south if they could, and the manticore… well, let’s just say they’d sooner skin a cat than fuck one these days.

On the second day, he stood on a high ridge and saw a flash of red amongst the trees in the distance. Sure enough, Eskel emerged from the canopies looking anxious and determined. _Poor guy._ Why try so hard? The end game was inevitable, and there was so much fun to be had before it too. The wolves _always_ had something to prove, didn’t they? Overdramatic, if you asked Gaetan. He’d been careful to leave a few signposts to his direction. Whereas Eskel would be pissing on the existing markers of forktails, wolves and bears, Gaetan left his own trail of footprints and scent. He needed both groups of pursuers in the exact place he’d planned.

Because Gaetan hadn’t exactly played _fair_ with his hunters, he’d planted nets and other resources beneath rocks, just inside caves and high up in the canopies of trees on the walk up here. Treyse had pretended not to notice. _He noticed._ Aiden too, but the older cat had just found it all very amusing. Gaetan collected his nets on the third day. He watched the four hunting parties leave and, predictably, the bears and the manticore headed east on the trail of a frightened wolf pup. The other two picked up his footprints and… circled Kaer Morhen in confusion. He chuckled to himself as Coën gazed around one clearing, mapping out several markers Gaetan had left and then lifted his hands at Jerome in despair. 

The vipers were slightly less perplexed. They didn’t expect Gaetan to play fair. If there was any school that shared the cat’s affinity for espionage and trickery, then it was the School of the Viper. At one point, he was pretty certain Kolgrim lifted his great, shaggy head and looked directly _at_ him where he perched high on a rocky outcrop. 

The momentary bafflement of at least one of his hunting groups gave Gaetan time to prepare his traps… 

He found a forktail nest exactly where he’d expected it to be. The mother had since laid her eggs, and he collected them while the parents were out scavenging in the middle of the night. No animal was stupid enough to mess with forktail eggs. Not even other forktails. He stole them away in the burlap sack he’d left high in an aspen tree especially and slipped through the undergrowth towards the gryphon’s camp, silent as a shadow. He waited well outside their range of smell, sight and hearing, watching their silhouettes move in the firelight and catching snippets of conversation on the wind.

“Is he… running… circles?”

“...idea…”

“...nice ass…”

Gaetan preened.

“...shame about… attitude.”

Gaetan _scowled_. And felt a lot better about his plan. Not that he’d felt bad about it in the first place. As the night deepened and the embers of the fire ebbed low, Gaetan rolled in mud and other unpleasantries like the feral little shit he knew himself to be and snuck close to camp. He tucked the forktail eggs as close as he dared get, propping them up in the roots and piercing the membrane with his hunting knife. Once his diversion was set, he snuck back towards his perch and waited for morning.

The family of forktails arrived home to an empty nest just as the sun touched the highest plateaus of the mountains and, with a roar of outrage, they took back to the skies in search of their young. Gaetan watched the circle high above the treetops; his head turned to the wind in search of the scent of their clutch. As soon as they caught the whiff of the yolk leaking through the shell, they dropped from the sky like stones. Moments later, bursts of igni and the ripple of aard erupted from the canopies, along with the shouts of alarmed Witchers.

 _Ahh, they’d be fine—four_ Witchers versus two forktails. No competition. And they were meant to be the best, right? Gaetan snickered as he clambered down from his rocky hiding place to set out his nets. Before the fourth day was over, he’d managed to capture two gryphons in an elevated snare and smacked another in the face with a raised tree log attached to a tripwire. That was definitely a broken nose that needed to be set. _No doubt Raven would ensure he got his own back during the Last Dinner._

On the fifth day, he lured them close to a nest of endrega he’d found tucked into the side of the mountain, nearly gave Keldar a heart attack with a well-placed samum bomb attached to another tripwire and made Coën lose the will to live. By nightfall, they’d realised what the hell was going on and decided to hunt the wolf pup instead.

_Excellent._

***

Eskel didn’t sleep the first or second night. He decided he could use the time to clear more ground. It was a mistake. By the end of the third day, his eyes were burning with exhaustion, and he was barely over halfway down the mountain despite his best efforts. The river was still several days walk away at a normal pace, and now he felt like he was lifting a leaden weight with every step. 

_Stupid._ Why had he thought that was a good idea? The panic was overwhelming his good sense. There was no way he would’ve done something so foolish while out on the Path.

That’s what he needed to see this as. It was just a few days on the Path, and maybe, if he got far enough, they’d give up? It could happen. He’d have to go back eventually, but he’d survived a basic year on fewer supplies that he had now. The idea took root in his weary mind, and he began to plan how he’d escape along the river and cross over into Redania. Spend a few weeks on minor contracts, and then he’d go back in a month when the summit was _definitely_ over. There were no rules against it. He had to keep running until they caught him. Just performing his duty to give a good hunt. It didn’t matter there was no precedent; he could be the first. The first Fruit to outsmart his hunters until they gave up.

But to outwit sixteen skilled Witchers, he needed to grasp onto his thoughts for longer than a handful of seconds. In a haze of exhaustion, they were floating out of his head like so many clouds in a summer sky. Without sleep, the hunters would catch up with him in no time at all. Rather than continue down the mountain, Eskel found shelter and curled up on his bedroll to sleep; his eyes closed the moment his face touched the coarse material of the lining. He was well within forktail country, but not even the distant screeches of circling draconids could keep him from his dreams…

The cold woke him slowly, like cold talons sinking into his skin, creating stiffness in his limbs that only usually settled in during the dead of night when his cloak slipped off. Not that he had a cloak. Just his gambeson and bedroll. No one had really explained to him why the Fruit had to be so direly under-resourced, but he had a feeling it was something about wearing them down. A well kitted out Witcher would be harder to find than one that was cold, tired and hungry. It would make giving into the offer of comfort far more appealing too…

Eskel felt the bile rise in the back of his throat as he dropped his face into his palms. How long had he slept? A day and a night? It felt like a century. It was a running joke amongst the school members that Eskel could _hibernate_ for a week if you left him during the winter. Right then, hibernation was an attractive prospect; everything was sore and the world lethargic. He was tempted to go back to sleep, but every minute counted if he was going to put distance between himself and the keep.

Bare fingers rubbed through the thick hair of his beard until he reached his sideburns. It itched his scars. He didn’t like it, but some small part of his brain had believed that if he looked more grizzled and as unappetising as possible, they wouldn’t want him. Gaetan was slender, athletic, with a mischievous smile and youthful countenance. They’d all go after him, right? That was the kind of man you wanted, warming your bed. Someone keen, experienced, and _good looking._

He picked up his bedroll, lashed it to his pack, and continued down the slopes. Several hours in he had to duck into cover when three forktails began circling overhead. Hunting. He swore quietly under his breath and disappeared into the shadows. One? He could deal with it easily. Two? It’d be touch and go. But three? And hungry? They’d carry him back for their hatchlings. “C’mon, move on.” He hissed through clenched teeth, amber eyes fixed skyward as the beasts continued to patrol in search of a worthy meal. They wouldn’t leave for _hours._

The longer he had to wait, the more the anxiety curled in his chest. The hunters would have been travelling for a day and a half by now, and they’d be on horseback. They’d push the horses a bit, perhaps trot down the smoother trails, and make up ground twice as quickly as he could generate more between them. 

Rather than focus on that, he routed through his bag for some of the dried biscuits he’d been subsisting on for the majority of his trip. Not much left. Maybe one more meal if he were lucky, then he’d have to waste time hunting. He had the materials for a snare, and if he was quick, he might be able to catch a grounded bird. It didn’t bode well for his plan to get down to the river before his hunters could catch up with him. 

Just as he was about to tie the flap of the bag shut again, he caught sight of a small glimmer of hope. _The book._ He knew Geralt’s work when he saw it. His thumb smoothed over the scuffed cover, each mark and crease as familiar to him as the lines on the back of his own hand.

_Heroes of Skellige: Tyr._

Legend had it that Tyr had to defeat a great and powerful bear named Yngvar to take possession of the land promised to him by Hemdall, his father. It was well known that no mortal had ever survived an encounter with Yngvar, so Tyr decided to prepare properly for the fight...

Eskel settled against the stone wall of the cavern with a quiet huff of contentment and nibbled at his biscuit while he read about Tyr’s adventure. He became so lost in the narrative that the hours slipped by unmarked and the sun had set by the time he looked up from the yellowed pages. Rather than travel in the dark again, he permitted himself some more rest and dreamed about the mighty Tyr felling the fearsome Yngvar.

The following day, Eskel felt more centred. He had seen neither hide nor hair of his hunters, and it was easier to believe he was just walking the Path as normal. He was punished for his complacency by the wicked hand of fate when he was crouched by a brook, the freshwater dripping through his fingers as he brought a cupped palmful to his mouth. The sound of hooves accompanied the shout of a woman’s voice.

_In Zerrikanian._

Eskel twisted in the dirt and glanced over his shoulder with wide eyes. He didn’t wait for the beat of hooves to get louder and staggered through the water to try and break up his trail. It was too late. They knew they were close and he could hear the horse thundering across the dirt. The shouting got louder, and he chanced another glance; they’d seen him. Virva, Ixora’s second, burst through the treeline astride a beautiful grey mare, her braids whipping around her face as she stood up in her stirrups and pointed at him with a delighted shout.

Two of Virva’s male companions - Fenlo and Eimlon, Eskel vaguely recognised them from the introductions in the training yard - charged forward. Fierce, amber eyes glistened with the thrill of the hunt, and in their gloved hands, they had a bolas and a coil of rope respectively. 

_They were going to run him down like a dog._

No. No, they weren’t. _They’d have to kill him first._

Eskel felt a surge of indignant rage, and his left hand lifted instinctively. Igni erupted from his palm like dragon fire, and Fenlo threw up his quen shield just as the flames poured over him. It wasn’t a single pulse, but a steady, furious stream that forced them back towards the trees.

Virva’s horse raised its forelegs and then pawed anxiously at the ground, tossing its great head, as cracks began to appear in Fenlo’s shield. Eskel couldn’t see the looks of surprised horror on their faces as this young hatchling of a Witcher drove them back with the raw power of his Sign. They’d never encountered anything like it. With a barked shout, they threw themselves behind the protection of a nearby boulder seconds before the quen shield shattered and the flames licked over their heads. With his opponents momentarily stunned, Eskel took the opportunity to flee.

His pack was still by the water, but he didn’t have time to collect it before they were charging after him. He sprinted through the shallows of the brook and scrambled up an uneven path towards the ravine he knew was nearby. The horse would close the distance quickly once Virva wrestled it under control, and he heard the whistle of the bolas as Eimlon wound it up at his side, ready to throw the moment the range was right.

The dirt crunched under his feet, his chest burned with exertion, but still, he pushed his legs. It was like running the Killer. Exactly the same. Ignore the hunters, focus on the obstacle. _Move._ **_Move._ ** _Faster, boy._ He could almost hear Varin’s snarl in his ear as he approached the cliff edge. Not going to make it. Too far. _Too far._ The anxious voice in his head, the one that denied his mutagens and his skill at every turn, screamed as the expanse stretched out before him. His pursuers must have thought it too that they had him pinned between them and a sheer drop.

_They were wrong._

Eskel threw himself over the void just as the bolas swung by his legs. He dropped his left hand and threw an aard behind him against the cliff wall, and the brute kinetic force of it propelled him those last few meters. His chest slammed into the opposite side, arms scrambling against the uneven, dusty ground, to gain purchase. Eskel hauled himself up onto the ledge through sheer force of will, his arms and legs shaking. He heard the horse skidded to a stop opposite, and lifted his gaze to meet the bright, excited eyes of the foiled huntress. Not even the manticore would chance such a death-defying leap.

“Aha!” She brayed in delight, reining her horse under control. “Kusaka kwabwino, Chinjoka! Kusaka kwabwino!” She touched her fingers to her chest, then her forehead, and finally splayed them towards him. Eskel may not understand her words, but he recognised the Zerrikanian salute: respect. He had their respect. With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself to his feet, chest still heaving, and felt the twitch of a smile touch his parted lips. He nodded his farewell before disappearing into the trees.

It would take them at least a day to find a way around the ravine, and Eskel could use the space to catch his gods-damned breath…

That afternoon, Junod approached the brook and bent down to pick up Eskel’s pack. He lifted it to his face and snuffled over the material to confirm his suspicions. “Grayson,” he glanced over his shoulder, calling the other bear to his side. “The cub abandoned his supplies.”

“That’s not good,” Grayson took the pack for himself, glancing inside. “Was low on food, but it’s got his hunting knife, a snare, a book, his bedroll. Not left by choice, I’d wager.”

“The manticore must’ve found him,” Ivo approached, rubbing the back of his head. “No word on the Xenovox though, so they didn’t catch him.”

“That’s worse, means he’s out here with just his swords and his wits,” Junod grumbled, turning to strap Eskel’s pack to the side of his horse’s saddle. “It gets fucking cold on this mountain, even for a Witcher.”

“His trail’s still fresh. If we keep our rest stop to two hours, we’ll close the distance,” Grayson swung up into his saddle again and steered his giant brute of a horse towards the ravine. “Vanik and I will stay this side of the ravine, if you circle ‘round to the east, we can close him in. I know where he’ll come out if he’s come this far.”

***

The vipers were good fun. Gaetan got the sense they were toying with him about as much as he was with them. He managed to catch Auckes in one of his net traps, and the others danced around him, prodding him through the holes as he snarled at them to cut him down.

There was no need to wander far. He could lead them on a merry chase without having to overexert himself. They were near water - a Kaer Morhen lake bank, no doubt - and a heavy fog settled over their camp one night. Gaetan watched them fight the foglets from afar, his pupils widening with pleasure as the vipers arched and twisted around their opponents. They were just as graceful as his own school. He couldn’t wait to see what those hips could do to him.

Once the foglets were gone, Gaetan withdrew into his hiding place for some shut-eye…

_They were gone in the morning._

Panic flared through Gaetan’s chest as he stared down at the empty clearing. How had he not heard them? He’d been tracking them for days. _They couldn’t just fucking disappear._ Tentatively, he left his rocky outcrop and sniffed around the camp. There were no clear tracks - horses hooves mixed with footprints and unidentifiable scuffs - and the scents were a chaotic mix of sweat, burnt wood and treated leather.

_Fuck. Fuck._

No, he didn’t _do_ chance. Gaetan was a man that made his own luck. He had to be in control. Everything _had_ to be his way. _How the fuck had they escaped him?_

Angry, Gaetan stalked through the woodlands, nearly empty pack hanging from his shoulder. He stalked around in circles until the sunset again and was forced to retire into a shallow cavern as the temperature dropped. With his bedroll beneath him, Gaetan glowered at the far wall, mapping out their possible directions on the perfectly memorised map in his head…

“Huh, he looks a bit chilly,” came an amused sneer from the cave mouth; _Serrit_. Gaetan looked up suddenly to see four pairs of golden eyes glinting at him from the darkness.

“That he does,” said another. Gaetan recognised Kolgrim’s deep southern drawl.

“Serves him right for thinking he could manipulate us round in circles, and for setting fucking traps,” Auckes growled, and finally stepped into the silvery moonlight. “I’m going to make you sob on my cock, moggy.”

Gaetan, whose entire body was shaking with excitement, uncurled from the floor. He drew his steel sword and then opened his arms in invitation. “If you think you’re man enough.”

Letho hadn’t said anything yet, but Gaetan heard the hiss of the dual steel blades being drawn from the sheathes at his chest. The hulking viper stepped into the light, lips quirked in a lopsided smirk. “I believe you already chose your opponent.”

“That I did, big boy. Shall we dance?” He hopped onto one foot and stretched the other into a point before throwing himself forward with a flawless tour en l’air. 

Letho met his downward swing with a dip of the right shoulder, blades crossing to wedge the edge of Gaetan’s blade between them. He shoved the cat away, threw a knife into the air long enough to flick an aard, before catching it again with a swift turn. 

It took _a lot_ to impress Gaetan. He was the kind of man who saw the beautiful streamers and dancing flames of Belleteyn and dismissed them with a shrug of the shoulders; who gazed upon the gleaming towers of Cintra with a nonchalant ‘meh’ and observed the white lilies of Sharrewedd with their silver tears and waved them away as bland. So, to say he was _enamoured_ by Letho, was a staggering compliment.

The way the huge viper moved defied fucking _physics._ His huge muscles moved so fluidly beneath his scarred skin that Gaetan couldn’t help but gawk. The moment his sword was smashed from his hands, he dropped instantly to his knees, head tilting back to accept the kiss of steel against his throat. He panted through parted lips as he gazed up at Letho in wonder. “Take me.” An awed whisper.

Letho pressed a little harder for a moment - just enough to watch Gaetan’s skin bend around the sharpened edge - and then stepped back. “You need a wash; you stink like shit.”

“I did roll in shit to avoid the gryphons,” Gaetan whispered. “Saving myself for you.”

“Well, fuck,” Letho barked a laugh, and the rest of the vipers joined in. _What more could you really say to that?_ They decided to dunk Gaetan in the lake before heading back to Kaer Morhen.

***

Eskel could almost taste the freedom. He saw the glittering snake of water winding its way through the fresh green of Kaedwen below and drew in a shuddering breath of relief. Without his bedroll - or any supplies - he was tired, thirsty and the hunger gnawed through his stomach constantly. The manticore hadn’t caught up with him, and he hadn’t seen any of the others either. The forktails must be keeping them occupied.

He trudged down a narrow ravine that levelled out into a small clearing of trees, and the moment he reached the centre every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His right hand leapt up to the hilt of his sword as two hulking shapes emerged from the trees. Vanik and Junod. How - how had they predicted where he’d come out? His legs shook with exhaustion, and his sword felt far too heavy as he drew it from his back.

Junod spoke softly. “The combat’s just a ritual. We can have an arm wrestle for all they care.” He could see the exhaustion in the cub's eyes, the lethargy to his gait; there'd be no honour in felling an exhausted Witcher. The hunt was over.

Eskel sneered, his eyes darting towards the trees. The others were near. He could sense their eyes on him from the shadows. “Don’t think so.”

“Alright,” Junod reached up and met Eskel’s challenge with steel of his own. Unlike the training yard though he didn’t allow himself to be forced onto the back foot. It was only Eskel’s agility that saved him from a swift demise, shoulders dipping, hips twisting, as he lifted his sword to parry the swings he couldn’t dodge. Junod threw up a heliotrope when Eskel tried to put him off with aard and nearly disarmed him with a vicious uppercut to the jaw. His lip split, Eskel’s fingers curled for igni and, for the second time in as many days, the flames licked around a pressured quen shield. Except, this time, he wouldn’t be allowed to cast it long enough to break the barrier.

No sooner had he pushed Junod back a single pace did something big and solid smash into the side of him. It was like being hit by a fucking rock troll and then some. Eskel sprawled out on the ground, winded, and his sword knocked from his grip. A heavyweight settled on his back before his rattled thoughts had even settled. He fought instinctively, thrashing and scrambling at the earth. His body was exhausted, though, his struggles feeble compared to the strong hands and thighs that pinned him. “No, _no, **no.**_ ” He screamed, the terror ripping through his throat.

“Easy, cub, easy, calm down,” Grayson growled; Vanik joined him and took one of Eskel’s arms to twist it behind his back. It was a tight hold, but not intended to hurt. Eskel was pawing up stones, scratching his arms and face in his desperation to get away.

“Suck my dick, you piece of shit!” Eskel snarled; a flailed kick managed to catch someone on the shin.

Grayson chuckled. “Add that request to the list, lads.” The rumble of laughter that rippled around the clearing made Eskel seize; the cold realisation of exactly what was meant to happen next enough to shock him into stillness.

“Not here, not here, please, not here,” Eskel tried to bite back the sob - the fucking shame of it - and every muscle in his body pulled taut. He turned his face down into the dirt rather than allow them to see the tears in his eyes. 

“What’s he talkin’ about?” Grayson frowned, reaching to stroke Eskel’s hair away from his eyes only to have the cub cower from his touch.

“I think,” Junod approached, the sword in his hand returned to his back. “He thinks we’re going to rip his clothes off and have our wicked way right here in the mud.” The others hadn’t quite believed him when he’d told them just how terrified the Fruit of their Hunt was, but they could all smell it now; bitter and miserable.

Vanik huffed. “Fuck that. Grayson’ll put his back out.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Grayson growled in retort, and then looked back down to his captive. “We’ve got you cub. It’s over. Nothing happens out here; you have our word. Let us get you back home. A good bath, good food, then we’ll talk.”

Eskel sagged into the dirt, resigned. _It was over._ They’d caught him. He belonged to the School of the Bear from now until the end of the summit. When they walked through the doors of Kaer Morhen, they had him for three days to do with as they wished, with the only rules that he had to be cared for during his stay with them. _That could mean anything._

He said nothing, but they clearly took the dejected slump of his shoulders as submission, because in the next moment they were pulling him from the floor and nudging him up into the saddle of a horse. Grayson took the rest of the saddle behind him, and Eskel grit his teeth to try and stop himself shaking between the thick arms that flanked his shoulders. 

It didn’t really help.


	4. Prepare the Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bears ease Eskel's fears.

The ride home felt somehow shorter. Eskel thought about running, and the bears could clearly read in his face because they bedded down around him at night. It would be dishonourable; against the spirit of the Hunt. But fear made you do stupid things, and the knot of terror in Eskel’s stomach hadn’t gone down since they’d first pinned him to the floor. He hadn’t realised how _tired_ he was. Compared to an entire year on the Path this should’ve been easy - a nice stroll down the mountain until the hunters finally arrived - but the anxiety of it all had drained him.

There was always a bear nearby; Grayson rode behind him, Junod sat close to his side at mealtimes and Ivo draped his thick cloak over Eskel after sunset when he started to shiver. They didn’t force him to talk nor did they touch him unduly; the most contact was the brush of Grayson’s chest against his back as they rode together, and sometimes the big Witcher dropped down from the saddle to walk at the horse’s head anyway.

The xenovox crackled to life twice. ' _School of the Viper has returned with the Cat, Gaetan,'_ was the first message, followed by ' _School of the Griffin has returned empty-handed, but reported sighting the School of the Bear with the Wolf, Eskel.'_ So now everyone knew.

A day out from the castle, Eskel slipped away to a nearby stream and washed away some of the grime clinging to his skin. He didn’t want to walk through the doors looking haggard and half beaten; there was still a tiny sliver of pride in his chest. The split in his lip was healing quickly, the bruising faded. The bonus of a swift metabolism. The downside? His diet of dried biscuits and single-minded mission to get down the mountain had begun to waste his stomach and thighs. _Always lost weight there first_. He traced the ridges of his ribs with a quiet sigh - there was plenty of bruising to evidence his efforts - and then leaned forward to cup water with his palms.

As he rubbed through the thick layer of his unkempt beard and smoothed his hair back from his eyes, he saw Grayson examining him closely from the other side of the stream. Eskel swallowed, his mind warring over whether to lift his chin to meet the stare or cover himself. In the end, he snatched his shirt from the bank and pulled it over his head as nonchalantly as he could manage. It wasn’t lust that coloured that inspection though, but concern. _That was… somehow worse._

Junod left that evening with a crossbow on his back, and they made the rest of the journey with just three bears and one quiet wolf pup. The towering gates of Kaer Morhen had never been so _foreboding._ Eskel couldn’t remember the day he’d first arrived as a mere babe, but he was certain that was the last time he must have looked upon his home with such sinking dread.

Trainees were practising in the courtyard, and they all paused in their drills to look round when the hunting party entered. Eskel clenched his teeth, his eyes burned, and then Grayson rumbled softly in his ear as he guided his tall horse towards the stables at an amble. “Keep your head up, cub. Feel no shame.” 

Eskel’s back straightened, his shoulders squared, and he looked straight ahead. Grayson dismounted just short of the stable and motioned him down; he didn’t offer help as he had done in the wilderness, apparently respecting Eskel’s desire to re-enter his home under his own steam. 

Just as one of the young initiates collected Grayson’s horse, Junod walked through the gates with an entire stag draped over his shoulder. Sweat clung to his brow, the muscles in his neck, arm and torso taut. He’d carried the damned thing for miles. Two of the older trainees approached to take it off his hands, but he growled at them in a warning. “No. It’s for our cub. I’ll take it to the kitchen myself.”

_Our cub._

Eskel tried to ignore the inquisitive glances cast his way and walked into the keep flanked by his captors. They didn’t head to the kitchens or the bears’ quarters but through the main communal areas. Eskel had the feeling he was being displayed; the gryphons glanced up from their card game, a cat past them in the corridor and smirked. The bears were showing everyone their prize.

None of the wolf school got in their way as they crossed the Grand Hall; he glimpsed Vesemir’s moustache and Varin’s stern eyes, but he couldn’t spot the flash of white hair he was hoping for. _Yearning_ for. Eskel only realised where they were heading when the hot springs' damp scent reached him at the top of a familiar set of winding stairs. _Made sense._ Of course, they’d want him to clean before they - _before._

Sweat gathered on his skin beneath the weight of his gambeson, part heat from the spring, part fear, and by the time the mouth of the corridor opened up into the huge, glittering cavern, Eskel was clenching his fists against the tremor in his hands. 

They’d taken his swords, his belts, his pouches and harder pieces of armour shortly after his capture, and he stood there dumbly as the others began to strip off around him. He’d bathed with his class, his instructors, so many times in the past and not thought about it for a second, but now his clothes felt like his last defence against - 

“Need help, cub?” Vanik, who was now more or less naked but for the pair of braies he’d hooked his thumbs in, called over with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” Eskel blurted and took a step away even though Vanik hadn’t moved towards him. “I can… I can do it.” He received a quiet grunt in reply and couldn't help but stare as Vanik dropped his underwear. His cock was thick and heavy between his legs, and Eskel's knees suddenly threatened to give in. His fingers were suddenly useless, uncoordinated, as they picked at the ties and buttons of his gambeson.

Ivo, still fully dressed, placed a hand on his shoulder. Eskel startled but didn't move away. Ivo hummed thoughtfully. "He has that effect on a lot of people, look, lemme help. You haven't stopped shaking since you stepped in here. We're meant to be looking after you." _And the smell of fear was acrid._

Eskel's hands dropped away as Ivo's worked deftly down his gambeson, and he murmured a quiet 'thank you' as he shrugged out of it. His shirt was easy enough, and he stared pointedly at the floor as he undid the ties on his trousers, hands still trembling…

"Eskel?"

His head lifted, and his heart stuttered at that familiar voice. Eskel turned to see Geralt standing in the open mouth of the corridor. "Geralt?" His voice rose above its normal pitch, and he looked round suddenly at the low growl behind him as Vanik took issue with the interruption. It was generally not _the done_ thing; Eskel was theirs from now until sunset on the third day. Before he could say anything, Junod appeared at Geralt's shoulder.

"I said he could come to see the cub," the bear murmured. "He was fidgeting at the top of the hall, was gonna' get himself in trouble. Go on, pup. Quickly." Junod shoved Geralt towards Eskel and then walked by to begin undressing. 

Whereas Eskel looked uncertain - desperate to keep Geralt out of _this_ brand of trouble - Geralt didn't hesitate. He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Eskel's broad shoulders, burying his face against his beard with a series of inquisitive snuffles. "Fuck, glad you're home. We spotted forktail circling in the direction you'd gone, and I was worried, and - ."

Eskel gripped Geralt tightly against him. He knew he smelled worse than a grave hag's ass, but Geralt didn't seem to care, so why should he? The familiar scent, the feel of Geralt's solid body against him; it was the anchor he didn't realise he'd needed. It was fine. All of this. Because Geralt had promised to be there when he was out, just like he had before the Grasses, before the Trial of the Medallion; he didn't break his promises. "It's all good. I'm fine."

"You - if they - I'll -," Geralt growled, eyeing each of the bears in turn. They seemed amused rather than insulted, with Vanik elbowing a now naked Grayson, murmuring, 'think he could probably take you, old man'. 

Eskel grinned. "Yeah, I know," he rubbed their noses together, pulling Geralt's attention back to him. "But they've - they haven't hurt me and -," he glanced up at Junod, Grayson, and realised he meant what he said next, "I… I think it's gonna' be alright." 

The bitter smell of his fear began to fade beneath the minerals of the springs; his momentary flare of happiness at seeing Geralt created a new, far more pleasant scent in the space around him, doughy and warm. The bears exchanged glances, deciding immediately that Eskel needed to emit _that_ beautiful smell as much as possible while he was with them. It made them want to bury their noses in his hair, his chest, and lick up the arch of his throat until it saturated their tongue.

"Alright, well… uh…" Geralt drew away reluctantly.

"Sod off, pup. We want a bath and dinner'll be getting cold in our room before long." Ivo waved his hands dismissively, and Geralt left slowly, glancing back at Eskel every few steps until he'd disappeared around a bend. Vanik flopped into the water with a monumental splash, receiving a clout from Grayson as soon as he surfaced. 

As the two tussled, Eskel dropped his trousers and slipped in at the other end, followed shortly by Junod on one side and Ivo on the other. They were close, Junod's big arm settled along the edge of the wall behind his back, with Ivo fussing over the washkit. Eskel fought the desire to move away and create his own space; he had to push through. Do his duty and take what they gave with dignity.

As if he sensed Eskel’s conflict, Junod cleared his throat. "So," he glanced down with a raised eyebrow. "Can we start the talk now?"

"Uh," Eskel, who'd been admiring Vanik's chokeslam technique, gathered his hands in his lap. "Yeah, sure. I… uh, I don't know what - ."

"You ever been with a man?" Ivo asked, rinsing a shaving razor in the warm water.

Eskel's ears turned red. "No."

"In any way, cub? Hands and mouth?" Junod tilted his head.

"No, just… uh, a working girl a couple of times, hands, mouth once. And that wasn’t… good. She didn’t look, uh, like she wanted to be there at all. Disgusted, in fact. So I, uh, I stopped it. That's it."

"So, not even with lover boy that just came down to eye us up?" Vanik left Grayson to float on his back, believing a split lip was an appropriate amount of revenge. When Eskel shook his head mutely, Vanik’s eyes widened a touch in surprise as another thought occurred to him, and then… "Wait, but you've got a bit hot on the collar though? Kissed him like?"

"N-no," Eskel tried to keep Vanik's eye, but this wasn't a calibre of the conversation he'd had before. "I… uh, we've just never… I'm not sure how to ask."

"Huh," Junod lifted a wet hand from the water and scratched at his beard. "Do you want to kiss him?"

They were all peering at him in bewildered awe as if something important hung on his answer, so when he did open his mouth, he spoke tentatively. "Yes." Eskel had wanted to for as long as he could remember. "Not sure whether he would - I mean, I have no idea what to do, or what… should happen, and Geralt could have anyone he wanted, doubt he'd want me."

"We did," Grayson piped up, righting himself with a small splash. Eskel looked at him in surprise, and then across to Ivo who was now sorting through foaming soap. Grayson continued. "Maybe we can help, cub. Teach you what you need to know to catch your wolf." There was a general grumble of agreement between the four bears and Eskel frowned. He was still reeling from the ‘we did’. The way it was said so earnestly. They hadn’t just hunted anyone they’d picked the trail of; they’d hunted _him_ specifically.

_No pressure then._

"Trust and respect," Junod murmured. "That’s the point of all this. You have to be at your most vulnerable, and we have to make sure you're safe and happy. We can take it slow as you like, but you know what the endgame is… and we need to make sure you're ready for that."

They watched Eskel’s shoulders lower again, and Ivo grabbed his chin with a quiet growl. “Stop doin’ that.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologise to him,” Vanik chuckled. “Punch him in the face.”

“I’ll punch _you_ in the face if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Ivo shot back.

“Oof, Ivo of Belhaven, throwin’ down,” Junod smirked and saw a small twitch at the corner of Eskel’s lips. 

Ivo noticed it too and hummed quietly. “Ahh, so he does have a sense of humour. Well, that’s a fuckin’ relief.”

“Where’d you get Belhaven from?” Eskel asked.

“The same place as him,” Ivo glanced at Junod. “The town.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Grayson growled. “Tell him.”

“Hmm,” Ivo’s upper lip twitched into a scowl. “Let me shave that bum fluff off your face, then I’ll tell you. That beard’s worse than Vanik’s.” A quiet ‘ _asshole_ ’ bubbled up from where said man had sunk until his mouth was beneath the surface of the water. When Eskel hesitated, the smallest of the bear clan sighed. “You don’t like it. It itches. You keep rubbing over the scars on your face. Let me get rid of it.” 

“Here, cub, lean back, he gives a good shave,” Junod moved slowly, watching Eskel’s reaction as he rested a palm on his chest and eased him back against the support of his arm. His fingers lingered, enjoying the strong, slow beat of Eskel’s heart beneath them and the feel of the damp fluff on his chest. Their cub was calm. The smell of fear hadn’t returned. 

Ivo shifted closer, nudging Eskel’s knees apart so that he could stand between them, but not pushing further. Eskel held his breath as the soap smeared around the untidy scraggly of his beard, and then again when he felt the cold of the blade touch his cheek. But Junod hadn’t been lying, Ivo was an artisan; every flick of the razor was precise and swift. When it came to the sensitive scarring on the right side of Eskel’s face, Ivo guided the cub to rest the now freshly shaven left cheek on Junod’s bicep. “Just to make sure you stay still, don’t want to catch you because a loud noise made you jump,” he murmured.

As the blade rasped over his skin, Eskel couldn’t help but… _melt._ It was too comfortable, too calm. He could feel Junod’s warm bulk next to him; the great bear’s pulse thrummed beneath his ear, deep and strong, and the others were talking quietly nearby as they washed. The edge of the blade felt good against his skin; a constant, satisfying pressure. His limbs felt heavy, but in a pleasant way that throbbed through him in waves with the heat of the water. Damp fingers combed through his hair as he gazed into space with lidded eyes; his breathing slowed, his shoulders relaxed, and he slipped into the haze of meditation.

“He’s nearly asleep,” Ivo whispered, washing the final few bristles off in the water. The shave was clean, and they could see Eskel’s youthful features again; his handsome jaw and stout nose, those full lips that _had never been kissed._ Or put to good use around a cock. 

His face was just the crowning glory on a staggeringly attractive man. That thick chest with its soft black hair that travelled all the way down to a lovely prick that Ivo had admired before it disappeared beneath the water. Although a little thinner than when he’d started, his arms and thighs were thick and muscular, ready to be put to work. Eskel was young, handsome and ready to be trained, and... Ivo could feel a small well of arousal gather in his belly for the first time; a heat that surpassed even the spring.

Junod smirked. “Well, fuck, I woulda’ called Vanik as the first to get eager.”

“Mm, he’s… nice to look at,” Ivo grated, and saw that little flicker on Eskel’s lips again. Usually, he’d have said something cruel to wipe it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The terror, the dejected misery; the wolves hadn’t done a single fucking thing to prepare their pup for this. Well, fuck them. He was _their_ cub now. At least for the next few days. “Where’s Arnaghad?”

“He’ll be down in a bit with the robe, clean off so we can head up as soon as he arrives,” Junod couldn’t take his eyes off Eskel; the arch of his neck where he still rested back against his bicep, the curve of his chest and the dips around his collarbone. That would be where Junod kissed first, where his pulse sat close to the surface so that he could taste the life and the strength in him through his skin. 

He let Eskel doze in that half state for a little longer until Grayson waded over and indicated the soaps on the edge of the spring. Junod nudged their cub back to wakefulness enough for him to understand what was happening. “Going to wash you, cub. You don’t like anythin’, say.”

“Mm,” Eskel hummed, something vague in the back of his mind protesting through the weight of comfortable exhaustion, but otherwise he felt safe. Junod reached over to pick up the cloth and soap, adjusting his arm so that Eskel leaned into him rather than against the rock. To have him this close, but not touch him as he deserved, was sweet torture, but Junod could be a patient man. He washed his cub tenderly, prompting him to lift his arms and tilt to different angles until the last of the grime had melted from his skin. Grayson lathered up his hands and slipped them through Eskel’s hair; he circled his fingers slowly across Eskel’s scalp, grunting in approval when those rich amber eyes flickered with pleasure.

“There, not so bad, is it?” Grayson rumbled, thumbs stroking over Eskel’s eyebrows. For him, it was those dusky nipples on a full chest. He yearned to sink his teeth into those thick tits; not break the skin, but just to feel the give of the muscle in his jaw, have Eskel arch into it with a needy little whine. His ass, plump and round, would be just as satisfying. Vanik watched from afar, his erection straining under the water; he tracked every time Eskel swallowed and tried to picture the sensation of that pretty throat swallowing his cock and moaning around it. 

When the cub had been frightened and skittish, it’d been impossible to imagine doing anything to him beyond holding him until he felt better. Still, now he was slumped peacefully against Junod’s side, all four bears hungered for a taste of their prize.

They were rinsing the soap off of him just as Arnaghad stepped into the cavern. He cast his eyes over his four clansmen, and then the dozing wolf pup against Junod’s side. “You deflowered him yet?” 

“He only stopped shaking half an hour ago,” Ivo snipped as he pulled himself out of the pool and grabbed his towel. “What did you want us to do? Hold him down by the neck while we violated him?”

Rather than rising to the argument, Arnaghad removed the bearskin tucked beneath his arm. It came from a giant black bear from the south and would wrap even Eskel’s broad frame; the upper jaw would sit over his head, the huge forelegs would wrap about his shoulders. “Here, our gift for the Fruit,” he passed it over to Ivo before turning his back. “Just make sure he’s ready for the Last Dinner. I don’t want the rest of the schools thinking we can’t treat a tribute properly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vanik pulled himself out next and then reached down to help Junod lift Eskel out. The cub was barely awake now, his legs like jelly and his eyes hazy. “Just don’t stumble in drunk again as you did five years ago.” 

That had almost been a diplomatic disaster. School elders weren’t allowed to partake. There were so many reasons it was difficult to know where to begin, but Arnaghad had fallen in half cut and dropped his trousers in front of a pretty young cat. She’d been thoroughly fucked out, and was resting before the Last Dinner as she needed. Junod had intervened just in time.

With a grunt, Arnaghad waved a dismissive hand and, much to the relief of everyone in the springs, left. The bears towelled down their prize and wrapped him in his bearskin cloak. Grayson hummed with pleasure, pulling the arms until they draped over Eskel’s chest. “Mmph, you look good.”

Eskel smoothed his fingers through the soft fur until it brushed over his skin. It was a fine cloak, lovingly prepared, and when he looked up at the others, they were eyeing him appreciatively, their cocks filling out before Eskel’s eyes. He was naked but for his beautiful gift; his tanned skin decorated with the first of his scars and thick, dark hair. As Grayson stepped away, Eskel squared his shoulders, the sleepy haze clearing from his eyes. 

Their lust hung thickly in the air, but beneath the noble head of the bear perched on his own, Eskel didn’t feel overwhelmed, but _empowered._ They wanted him. _Him._ The scarred Witcher, with the ugly face and fuck all experience. Not the pretty cat, or the White Wolf, or the gorgeous Zerrikanians with their manes of braids. They wanted _Eskel_. 

But they wouldn’t take; they stood back, eager, barely contained, fists flexing. These huge Witchers, with thick beards, bodies knotted with scars and decorated with tattoos, stood around him with dicks hard and leaking. Eskel felt a tightness curl in his groin as his gaze fell on Junod; the bear’s yellow eyes were wide, his broad chest heaving a little faster than usual as if he were wrestling himself under control. His thick cock stood up over his stomach, weeping a single tear of precome as his gaze swept down Eskel’s body. “Time for food, cub.” His voice was no more than a low growl.

They left the spring once the bears had dressed. Eskel pulled on his braies, but the weight of the bearskin was enough to keep him warm as they walked through the keep. Unlike last time, he didn’t cower under the gaze of his peers but held his head high beneath the weight of the bear’s jaw. He could feel his companions' big hands brush against him, feeling the fur, his skin, seeking out the smallest sliver of contact to tide them over.

Their communal room was warm, with the fire stacked high, and their requested food already laid out for them on the centre table. Rather than allow him to take a seat though, Junod placed a hand on the back of Eskel’s shoulder and guided him into the bedroom. It was the first stab of panic he’d felt in hours, and Eskel tried to back out with a barely audible whimper. Junod murmured gently in his ear. “Easy, cub, none of that tonight, remember? We’ve done the bath, talk, now some food, and we can do a little more talking.”

“Nothing, even though -,” Eskel glanced across at Grayson, whose erection showed little sign of fading. The huge bear stepped over and carefully removed Eskel’s cloak for him, laying it down across the foot of the bed.

“You have our word.” Junod guided Eskel to the bed. He first climbed on himself and tugged the cub until he sat between his legs, tense back to muscular chest. Eskel decided immediately that Junod was an extremely comfortable armchair, and he smelled… _really fucking good, actually._ They weren’t done yet though, Junod looped an arm around him and rested a hand on his belly. “We’re going to feed you. You didn’t eat enough on the Hunt.” 

Eskel recalled the worried look in Grayson’s eye and the way Junod had disappeared to hunt an entire fucking stag without a single word. It wasn’t an afterthought. They’d planned this part too. Ivo appeared with several plates from the table and plonked himself down at Junod’s side; he gave his brother a plate of his own and broke off a piece of sweet bun. “Open up.”

“You’re _literally_ going to feed me?” Eskel asked, incredulous. 

“Mmhm,” Ivo moved the bread forward and nudged Eskel’s nose with it. “C’mon, I can hear your stomach growling. You’re gonna’ need the energy.”

Eskel opened his mouth with a huff, and Ivo placed the morsel of food carefully upon his tongue. It was nothing special - just Vesemir’s normal recipe - but Eskel moaned quietly in appreciation, mouth-watering. He hadn’t realised just how hungry he’d become over the last few days. The bears all rumbled again. Eskel realised this was the sound they made when they were collectively pleased. Like an earthquake rippling through the mountains. Their eyes went big again, their pleasure scenting the air.

They took it in turns to feed him by hand, waiting patiently until it was their turn to climb onto the mattress at Junod’s side to tend to their cub. Thick fingers picking the perfect cuts of meat, the crispest vegetables, the nicest pieces of fruit, to place reverently in Eskel’s mouth. Vanik traced Eskel’s lower teeth and lip with a quiet hum of appreciation, and Grayson patted his ever-growing stomach at regular intervals. Even when Eskel said he’d had enough, they kept going; kept insisting. He was used to stopping once the hunger pangs were gone, but the bears wanted to gorge him. They were stuffing him full before they... _stuffed him full._ As he swallowed yet another piece of perfectly cooked venison, Eskel groaned. “Please, I’m done, I can’t.”

“Hmm,” Junod rubbed Eskel’s swollen belly with another of those low grumbles of contentment. “I think you’re right.”

Grayson crawled onto the bed with a delighted growl; hands planted either side of Eskel’s hips and Junod’s splayed legs. Slowly, he lowered his face to Eskel’s stomach and brushed his nose very gently through the soft hair in the centre. Eskel shivered and kneaded at the blankets beneath him, while Grayson grinned in triumph. “Mm, a stuffed cub.” He rubbed his beard against the firm flesh next, nuzzling only as far as Eskel’s waist; his cub writhed as coarse bristles sent tingles of pleasure rippling across his skin.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Eskel breathed. His body was too tired to muster much of a response, but the bears didn’t seem too worried. They’d said no sex, but _affectionate nuzzling_ was clearly an acceptable alternative. Vanik and Ivo both came to nose and kiss at his stomach too, disappearing only to grab more food and ale for themselves. Eskel fell asleep draped over Junod, with the others bedding down to play a quiet game of dice until they too felt the weight of sleep descend. Their cub was safe, warm, well-fed and, most importantly of all; he _didn’t smell of fear._


	5. Popping a Wolfcherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bears ease Eskel in gently.

When Eskel’s mind began to stir from its slumber, it registered first just how warm he was. Not the uncomfortable, sweaty heat of too many furs and nightmares, but the close, cosy warmth of the best night’s sleep he’d had in a long time. He hadn’t woken once as he often did in his own bed, shivering and frightened, but slept right through until someone edged the curtains open. There was a large hand splayed across his chest, and another resting unobtrusively on his hip. Vague outlines at the edge of his peripheral consciousness wandered around by the door.

“Breakfast’s here,” Ivo mumbled from somewhere near the door.

“Can we let him sleep a little longer?” Grayson asked, his tone fond; his voice originated from somewhere near Eskel’s left side. 

“He’s already awake,” Junod replied through a smile, his nose pressing into Eskel’s hair. The shampoos and the soaps of the night before had faded, leaving behind an alluring, contented scent that could only be Eskel himself; it was like freshly baked bread and cinnamon buns outside a bakery on the streets of Beauclair. _Like home._ The Bear stroked gentle fingers down the scarring on Eskel’s face and then cupped his jaw to tilt his head up. Everything about Eskel made Junod’s mouth water; a tribute had never had quite this effect. “Aren’t you, cub?”

“Yeah.” Eskel’s eyes opened to stare up into Grayson’s bearded face and stretched out beneath the blanket they’d drawn over him. Junod had moved him onto the mattress during the night, allowing him to stretch out, but his arm was still tucked beneath the pillow cushioning Eskel’s head, and that large hand he’d felt earlier was now gently stroking the soft, downy hair on his stomach. To his embarrassment, his prick was already semi-hard, its outline obvious beneath the blanket that’d been tugged down to his hips.

“We’ll see to that in a bit,” Junod growled, and then carefully withdrew his arm. “Sit up. Food.”

“I’m really not hungry after -,” Eskel began, and then his stomach growled when he caught the scent of fried meat and other goodies wafting in from the communal room. It was enough for him to ignore the slight flutter of panic when he considered what ‘deal with that’ might entail.

“Yeah, sounds like it,” Ivo grinned as he disappeared from the room to collect the plates, and Eskel was left with Junod and Grayson sitting on either side. The first continued to pet his stomach, while the latter carefully smoothed his ruffled hair out of his face and stroked the backs of his fingers down his cheek. They could sense his nervousness; not the all-consuming terror of the day before, but still a jitteriness that needed to be carefully managed.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” Grayson took Eskel’s chin and guided his face around. “You look a lot better.”  
  
“That was…” Eskel paused, brow furrowed; there was no point in lying to them, was there? They were going to see everything he had, peel back the layers until he was raw and vulnerable. “The best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.”

“Good,” Grayson grinned, and then shifted so that Ivo could place a heaped plate of food on the bed by his legs. “You’re gonna’ eat everything on this plate. We want you to be as thick as you were when you left on the Hunt.”

Eskel flushed, but Junod laughed. It was a deep, booming sound that Eskel loved immediately. “Don’t take it personally. He means it as a compliment. You remind us of a younger version of… well, us,” he paused. “Huh, maybe you should take it personally.” There was that grumble again. This time it was tinged in amusement, and Eskel couldn’t help but reflect their mirth in a toothy grin. Vanik joined them moments later, and Junod readjusted. Eskel was, once again, pulled up against his broad chest.

They wanted to feed him like last night. Grayson batted his hands away when he reached for the fruit and Ivo pressed a cup of freshwater to his lips. “There you go. Can’t survive on ale and mead alone,” Ivo said, and then raised an eyebrow at Vanik, who appeared to be privately disputing that fact as he tore the bread into bite-size pieces.

Breakfast was just as delicious as dinner had been. The meat was well seasoned, and the bears soaked the bread in the juices before placing it carefully upon his tongue. Now that he wasn’t as exhausted, Eskel could practically _feel_ the hum of their pleasure in the space around him; they were finding joy in caring for him, in making him comfortable and keeping him happy. There was no immediate threat to fear here. Eskel relaxed a little more against Junod’s solid chest, hands limp on top of the blankets, and accepted every morsel of food and sip of water until Junod waved them away. One of his big hands rested on Eskel’s stomach, rubbing in gentle circles with a pleased rumble. They really did have a _thing_ about well-fed lovers.

“You never told me about Belhaven,” Eskel looked at Ivo, who was shrugging out of his clothes. The others were tidying the plates off the bed and removing the tangle of blankets from the mattress. They weren’t in any rush; Vanik paused to box Grayson in the ear, who retaliated by grabbing his dick in a firm grip, with a threatening squint. 

“It’s where I was from before the School of the Bear decided they were going to turn me into a Witcher,” Ivo replied. “And then Junod joked that we’d bled so much together while he was saving my ass from getting beaten to death by the others, that we should probably share a second name or some shit. Bit of a leap of logic, if you ask me, but they’re all crazy fucks at that castle.”

“Now, now, Ivo,” Junod rumbled. “You’re a part of the School as much as any one of us in this room, whether you like it or not. So, actually, it should be _we’re_ all crazy fucks at that castle.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ivo waved his hand dismissively, and Junod looked back to Eskel.

“You’re loyal to your School, aren’t you, cub?” 

“Always,” Eskel said it without hesitation, and he hears Vanik chuckle somewhere to the left. He couldn’t look, because Junod had tilted him slightly to one side and was holding his chin in place. The others watched keenly, but all Eskel could see were the two yellow eyes that reminded him of the sand on Cidaris’ coast, glowing golden in the late afternoon sun. He could get lost in their warmth.

“But most of all, you love that wolf pup, the one with the white hair,” Junod studied Eskel’s reaction closely. He adjusted the cub a little higher, encouraging him to splay his legs by nudging them open with his knees. Eskel sat across his lap now, with Junod’s legs on the inside of his; still cradled, but a little more exposed, just to test his comfort level.

“Geralt,” Eskel whispered.

“We’ll start with a little of what you know and a little of what you don’t. Hopefully, you’ll have enough confidence to go proposition your pup after the summit’s over,” Junod could feel Eskel’s pulse hammering beneath his fingers where they cupped his jaw, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of his lower lip. “Are you a quick study?”

“Yes, I’ve been… mhm, yeah,” Eskel was struggling to find words because Junod’s mouth was so very close, and the fingers at his neck were stroking gently; commanding, strong, urging his head back until Junod finally sucked on his lower lip. The brush of his tongue, the graze of his teeth; Eskel shivered, mouth opening as the kiss deepened and his eyes closed. 

He had no idea what he was doing, but every shift of Junod’s lips sent prickles of illicit pleasure down the length of his body. He’d seen people kiss before. Always wondered what it’d be like, but he’d never imagined it would make him feel weak and _hot._ His cock, which had remained semi-interested in the goings-on, now filled out eagerly under the gaze of the others.

Grayson climbed between their parted legs, enticed by those thick tits dusted with dark hair and the swell of a well-fed belly. He leaned in and pressed his face into the meat of Eskel’s chest with a pleased growl, nuzzling and kissing his way over one firm muscle to a perked nipple. Eskel could feel the warm puff of his breath and his hands hovered uselessly over the mattress either side of his thighs.

Ivo took pity and took one of his palms carefully. “Here, you can touch, they like a bit of scratching too. It’s all that fur,” he whispered while placing that first hand on the back of Junod’s shaved head. The other he wove through Grayson’s hair and encouraged Eskel to give the dark mane a little scratch before he drew away. He and Vanik then sat back patiently, watching the others worship Eskel’s body; his mouth, chest, and stomach. They touched themselves slowly, enchanted by the banquet sprawled out before them.

Junod finally got to Eskel’s neck, thick fingers binding in his hair to pull his head back to reveal his throat. It was a big ask for a Witcher with wolf mutagens in his blood, and he paused to allow the cub to ease into the position or protest should he wish to, but Eskel remained pliant and spaced. With a sighed growl of bliss, Junod finally mouthed at the neck he’d admired in the springs, savouring the thrum of that strong pulse beneath his tongue. He felt the first quiet moan pass Eskel’s lips - no more than a reedy, restrained whine - but their cub was beginning to fray at the edges.

Eskel kneaded happily at Grayson’s hair as the big Bear worked down to his stomach with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He nipped at the folds of Eskel’s skin over his ribs, at his hip, and then finally reached his navel. Rather than plunge ahead to claim his prize, Grayson sat back to admire the view; Eskel’s impressively sized cock, with its silky skin and thick head beading precome at the very tip; the thick thatch of dark curls; the round, tight swell of his balls just begging for attention and finally the small, perfect furl of his hole. Never touched. 

The hard, throbbing length of Junod’s cock pressed up the crease of his thigh, desperate for the beautiful, powerful body spread over it. Eskel’s physical maturity - his body's strength, his prowess as a Witcher - juxtaposed his relative naivety. There was still an innocence to him - a vulnerability - that made something protective and earnest coil in Grayson’s chest. The presence of Junod’s hands only made him hungrier to taste and touch their prize; dismantle that innocence with enough tenderness to make Eskel weep with pleasure. He wasn’t the only one. Junod nuzzled tenderly at Eskel’s jaw, keeping the cub at ease while the others stroked his arms and his chest, still damp from Grayson’s kisses. He deserved to be treated well, to be shown just the type of love he deserved.

“Going to show you what good head feels like,” Grayson growled, and then grinned when Eskel’s leaking cock twitched in response, fingers tightening in his hair when the Bear dropped his face again. He didn’t push away, didn’t protest or tense, so Grayson lapped a long line from the base of his cock to the very tip. Eskel gasped, his hips bucking, but the palm on his stomach held him down as Grayson’s mouth descended over him. Vanik ran out of patience and dropped forward onto his hands to suck across Eskel’s chest, teeth testing firm flesh with shallow bites, while Ivo sat back and enjoyed the show, slowly stripping his cock in gentle tugs.

Eskel panted and keened as Grayson slurped at his cock, his head dipping slowly at first, savouring those first few moments of having such a nice prick in his mouth, and Vanik kissed below his right pec where the skin was most sensitive. “Ahh - fuck, nngh,” Eskel arched into the big hands that pushed at his thighs, spreading them further so that Grayson could worship Eskel’s balls with slow, long licks.

“Does it feel good?” Junod whispered. The cub was bucking and grinding over his cock in this position; his squirming was exciting the others and that only added to Junod’s lust-drunk haze. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to come on the scant stimulation, those little, needy whimpers and a head full of Eskel’s scent. 

“Yeah,” Eskel gasped; Grayson’s mouth returned to his cock, the head sinking into the Bear’s throat as his nose nestled against Eskel’s groin, throat constricting as he swallowed. “Gray -, I’m - I’ll - I’m gon - .” He hadn’t lasted long. If he had any ability to form a coherent thought, he might be embarrassed. Still, his confession elicited another of those pleased grumbles from the man latched onto his cock, and the vibrations were enough to tip him over the edge. His head pushed back into Junod’s shoulder, hips stuttering up, as Grayson continued to suck on him until he was shaking with overstimulation. “Ahh, p - please, stop, oh fu - it - ahh.”

Vanik batted Grayson off with a chuckle. “Thirsty old man,” he growled playfully, only to latch onto Grayson’s mouth for a messy kiss; the secondhand taste of their cub would do for now until he was ready for another round. Eskel watched them thump and nip at each other until Junod guided his chin around again.

“How’d it feel?”

“Good,” Eskel huffed, unable to muster much more as his body continued to hum with the aftermath of it; he could feel the heat of Junod’s cock beneath his ass, the skin soft against the cleft and the inside of his thigh. “Can I -? Could you - ?” 

“Spit it out, cub,” Grayson growled, finally extracting himself from Vanik to sweep a thumb over his lower lip. 

“Can you show me how to do it?” 

Grayson grinned. “If I get that mouth of yours on me, I’m not going to be much good at giving instruction. Roll over. We’ll use Junod.” The Bear’s cock leaked and twitched, desperate for attention, but its owner was too noble to push his need on someone else without being invited.

Eskel flushed up to his neck, but he did as he was told. Junod released him reluctantly, and when Eskel flipped over into his front, he finally got a good view of what the Bear had to offer. His prick was almost distressingly big, and it lay over his stomach now Eskel had moved, drooling a thick line of precome. Eskel nibbled on his lower lip and sank onto his chest between Junod’s legs, with his mouth barely inches above the base of his cock.

“Eager,” Grayson chuckled and lifted his chin a little higher, kneeling at their side. Eskel felt thick fingers push gently into his cheeks to ease his jaw open, and his tongue lolled forward to lick at the tip of Junod’s cock as Grayson lifted it towards his mouth. “Take your time. Lick up and down it - yeah, like that - this is as much about you enjoying it like him; taste him, feel him. Little flicks of the tongue.” Grayson gave Eskel the freedom to experiment first with little kitten licks, and then longer laps as he grew more confident, thumb circling gently on his angular jaw.

There was a dull thump from the top of the bed as Junod’s head fell back, his eyes rolling, and Eskel suckled tentatively at his head as Grayson guided it past his lips. Eskel’s mouth was watering, saliva dripping free of his lower lip down the length of Junod’s shaft, and he moaned around the huge head stretching his lips. Grayson petted his hair in gentle encouragement. “Knew that pretty mouth would be good at this.”

Eskel basked in the praise, but also the taste of Junod; the weight on his tongue, the salty tang of precome and the soft, silky texture of his skin as it brushed over the sensitive notch in his lip. The scent was overwhelming; a deep musk that teased Eskel back to hardness again as he finally dipped his head. It felt _perfect._ He’d never had a cock in his mouth before, but his entire body throbbed with pleasure as it pushed deeper; he wanted more. Wanted all his senses consumed by it. Grayson had used his throat, so Eskel tried to swallow, but his untrained gag reflex had other ideas. 

As he sputtered and choked around Junod’s prick, the great Bear groaned in bliss and wound his fingers through Eskel’s hair. “Fuck, _cub_.” Grayson’s grip tightened a little, finger and thumb pushing between Eskel’s teeth. “Relax, ease off.” With careful rolls of his hips, Junod fucked up into his mouth slowly, dipping only as far as the back of his mouth. Ivo curled up to Junod’s side and grabbed a handful of his beard to yank his face down for a kiss, grinding his leaking cock against one muscular thigh.

The bed dipped at Eskel’s hip as Vanik leaned over, and he felt the press of a warmth mouth at his hip. Sprawled on his front, with one knee splayed outwards over the bed, the curves of his ass presented a sight far too appetising to ignore. Warm lips pressed to the small of his back as a large hand splayed between his shoulder blades, occasionally shifting in gentle caresses. “You’ve got one fine backside,” Vanik breathed, and then nipped one plump cheek. If it wasn’t for Grayson’s hold on his jaw, Eskel might have bitten down in surprise. It wasn’t unpleasant - the rush of sparks up his spine knotting the arousal in his stomach - and he shifted his legs a little further apart as Vanik licked, kissed and sucked down to his thighs. “Nnngh, let me touch you. Spread your legs for me.”

Eskel wasn’t naive. He had some idea what would happen next; he pulled his mouth off of Junod and cast a tentative glance over his shoulder. Junod stroked his face, gazing down his chest with hazy eyes. “Just hand and mouth. Nothing more. See how it feels,” he murmured. Rather than push the cub’s mouth back onto his cock, Junod coaxed him down to rest his head against his thigh and motioned for him to roll over. With a grunt, Eskel wriggled over onto his back again as Vanik left the bed briefly to collect a flask from his bag. “Spread your legs, cub.”

Grayson rested down at his side, thumb stroking slow circles around a hardened nipple, marvelling at the soft skin of his areole. Meanwhile, Vanik was making himself comfortable beneath Eskel’s legs, his own splayed as he propped himself on his and began to lap lazily at Eskel’s cock and balls. Eskel shook with a soft whine; the heat of Junod’s cock pressed along the line of his jaw, and Grayson gathered up one of his hands to wrap it around his own neck. Ivo wiggled lower to flank his other side; the smallest Bear, still easily thicker than Eskel, cast a glance at Grayson before catching Eskel’s eye. “Want to hold your legs back. It’ll feel real good. That okay?”

“Hold them back?” Eskel croaked, shaking again as Vanik sucked gently at his balls; _fuck,_ these were all new, overwhelming sensations, and he could barely register the question.

“Yeah, Vanik’s going to lick and kiss your hole, feels nice, even better if he can really get to work,” Ivo’s hand rested on Eskel’s thigh, waiting, only circling the back when Eskel nodded. “C’mon, use your words.”

“Y-yeah, okay, I - _hnngh, ahh_ ,” Eskel gasped as Grayson tweaked his nipple one last time, and then dropped to grab his other leg. Thick fingers pushed over his skin, falling into the grooves of his thighs until they reached the bend of his knee. Together, Ivo and Grayson guided Eskel’s legs apart and back until he was splayed open before Vanik’s eyes. Grayson’s mouth returned to his chest, and Ivo leaned in to lick Junod’s cock, still lined up as it was next to Eskel’s face. Eskel felt vulnerable, but not unsafe, and he tilted his head back into Junod’s hand as it petted through his hair from above. 

They hadn’t hurt him yet. Everything had been tender, gradual and measured. This was no different. Vanik worked slowly. He dragged his nails lightly down the inside of Eskel’s thighs, curving around Grayson’s grip, as he sucked gently down Eskel’s perineum. The first lap of his tongue over Eskel’s hole made the young wolf buck, startled. Vanik chuckled. “Easy, cub,” the huff of his breath warm over Eskel’s tenderest areas; the younger Witcher flushed up to his neck as that tongue returned. It circled his hole slowly with just the tip, before lapping in long, broad licks that made him shake. Eskel pushed back against the grip on his thighs and felt a small amount of give, but the bears kept him spread as Vanik feasted. 

His cock was hard again. It flicked and drooled against his stomach with each pass of Vanik’s tongue; his chest heaved, and bitten off whines escaped his gaping mouth. His orgasm teased him; he could feel the building pressure as Vanik slurped and hummed appreciatively at his hole, but it was too much and not quite enough all at the same time. His hands quivered, his stomach muscles clenched, and then Vanik sat back with a sly smirk. “Well, don’t you look a treat?”

Eskel looked wrecked and wanton, legs still pinned back by the two men at his side, his eyes hazy and his skin sheened in sweat. There was a milky trail of precome in the dark hair of his still full belly, and Vanik leaned down to lap it up. Eskel whined and arched, desperate for enough stimulation to come. The Bear left sat back again and oiled his fingers. Eskel’s hole was relaxed from his earlier orgasm and a little teasing, but it still held that virgin tension as Vanik circled the outside. 

“How’re you doing, cub?” Grayson asked, lifting his face away from nuzzling the soft hair on Eskel’s chest.

“F-fine,” Eskel stuttered. He was still kneading at Grayson’s hair; his arm curled up, fingers buried deep, while the other hand gripped at Ivo. Grayson leaned over and nibbled at his lower lip just as Vanik slipped his fingertip inside. Eskel bore down on it with a bitten off flinch, and then Grayson’s big palm was circling slowly on his chest.

“Relax. Trust me, there’s a spot inside you that’s going to make you see stars,” the Bear grinned, toothy and broad, and Eskel took several deep breaths as Vanik drew out and eased back in again. A little deeper this time. “When you’re doing this to your wolf,” Grayson murmured. “Gotta’ be as gentle as this. None of that scissorin’ shit. It’ll hurt him. Lots of slick too. No spit. We’re not animals.” 

Eskel nodded quickly, a small part of his mind still coherent enough to file the lesson away for later. _Gentle. Slow. Lots of oil._ The initial sting caused by surprised tension abated, and Eskel’s eyes slipped closed as he focused on the new well of pleasure building at the base of his spine. 

Vanik pressed his finger in slowly, and Eskel gasped as his body eased open around the thicker base of his finger; it was too much, and then _just right_ in a matter of fleeting moments. His full lips formed in a shocked ‘o’, his tight hole squeezing intermittently at Vanik’s finger as it probed deeper. What had felt like an intrusion - painful, unwanted - now made Eskel cant his hips up for more. He felt the dribble of more oil pour over his balls and down the crease of his thighs, and then a large palm wrapped around his aching cock. He hadn’t realised how much he needed it until strong fingers closed around the quivering heat of his shaft.

A second fingertip joined the first and eased in just as slowly, teasing, massaging. They crooked towards his belly - he felt them squirm, the arch subtle - and then brushed across something new. A startled moan broke out of his chest involuntarily, his toes curled, and his back bowed. The pleasure bloomed through him like ripples passing over the surface of a lake; the overwhelming need to take a piss faded as he huffed in deep breaths through his nose and focused on the blissful pressure instead.

“That’s the spot you want,” Grayson whispered, allowing his low rumble of a voice to fade into the haze of Eskel’s pleasure. Eskel’s hips bucked and swayed against the grip around his thighs, his noises increasingly desperate, as Vanik moved two fingers in and out, dragging the tips repeatedly over his prostate. His other palm worked his cock in smooth, easy glides; wrist twisting, thumb brushing over his sensitive slit, circling gently across the back of his head.

“He’s going to look so fucking beautiful on a cock,” Vanik breathed, his eyes blown wide, as he drank in the sight of Eskel falling apart. His gaze kept dropping to the sight of his hole, pink and glistening, stretched open around just two fingers; the flex of his muscular thighs and the clench of his full stomach as his body begged for more even if his words didn’t. Yet. The desperate whimpers and bitten off gasps were enough for now. “He’s so tight. So perfect. Gods, _listen_ to him.” Vanik couldn’t stop the muddle of praise. He could smell the arousal of the others thick in the air, and his own cock ached for the soft, desperate heat of Eskel’s body, but he knew he had to wait. 

The cub needed a little longer. Tomorrow. _Tomorrow_ they would all have him; they’d cover that honey skin in come and make him moan like a Novigrad harlot. They’d have him bouncing on their cocks under his own steam, desperate to be full. Without thinking, Vanik increased his pace just a fraction, and then felt the surge of tension as Eskel’s orgasm poured through his body; the shudder of tight muscles as they gripped hungrily at his fingers, and the strong pulse of the cub’s prick against his palm.

Eskel’s back bowed, taut. Grayson hadn’t been joking about the stars; they blossomed behind his eyelids as his eyes screwed shut and a shocked cry punched out of his chest. He’d never had an orgasm that knocked the breath from his chest and made every limb go numb with pleasure. Vanik was merciless; the hand wrapped around his cock continued to stroke until he mewled his protest, every muscle quaking. Thick fingers eased out of him gently, and they lowered his legs back to the bed. Everything felt light, warm and hazy, and he didn’t even protest as Junod, who’d been diligently petting his hair, eased out from beneath him.

Perhaps it was the loss that set it off. Junod had been his anchor through the whole thing; a reassuring hand on his face, in his hair. One moment Eskel felt like he was floating, his body still prickling with the aftershocks of dizzying pleasure, and the next a heaviness settled that made him almost desperate for air. A coil of something miserable curled through his chest, and his lower lip quivered. He tried to bite it, but the sob he desperately tried to swallow broke free. 

It was too much. _Everything._ The fear in the lead-up, the abject _terror_ of being caught, the shame of being paraded through the halls as a prize, and the beginnings of tender respect in the baths that had shocked him into compliance. He’d expected it to come crashing down. The moment that door closed, he’d believed been ready to clench his teeth and endure. He hadn’t expected overwhelming tenderness; he hadn’t - he just - it was - 

In the euphoria of his climax, in the feeble moments following, everything _had_ come crashing down. It was a relief, he realised. He was sobbing with relief. That didn’t mean he could stop, though.

The bears were there in an instant. They’d backed off a little to give him some space to bask, but now Junod’s soothing bulk was back. His thick arms coiled around Eskel’s form and dragged him to his chest, his huge body blanketing his back in soft warmth. “It’s alright,” Junod said softly.

“This - I’m sorry - I -,” Eskel sobbed, trying to turn his face away as it burned in shame. 

Ivo, who’d hopped back on the bed as a close second, slipped a palm beneath a now damp cheek. “Don’t shy away. Just let it out.” They could all see the final tension melting away; the last part of Eskel that had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d been waiting for the violence and the pain to start through all the kisses and the petting, but now the realisation had shaken him loose. They weren’t going to hurt him. He'd expected to be violated in the worst possible way, but they had treated him with patience and tenderness. 

“I feel fuckin’ - stupid, I -,” Eskel’s golden eyes still glistened with embarrassment; he was red to the very tips of his ears.

“You’d be surprised how common it is,” Grayson said almost conversationally. He sat cross-legged not far away, fighting the urge to sprawl himself protectively over the top. The wolves weren’t the only ones who liked warm piles of happiness. “Whatever the elders say, this whole thing is fuckin’ stressful. The first day there are always some tears. Always.”

“Yeah,” Vanik grinned. “Didn’t you cry one year, Gray?” 

“Mmhm. I saw your ugly mug halfway through, and it cut me right off,” Grayson shot back. The predictable scuffle followed when Vanik leapt over the mattress and tackled the older Witcher to the floor. The amusement overpowered the residual panic of his sudden drop, and Eskel slowly settled in Junod’s embrace. Ivo stroked his hair a little longer, before leaving to find towels and freshwater to clean them off.

They didn’t push him anymore that day. Once he’d smacked Vanik into next week, Grayson left to grab his Gwent deck and entertained Eskel for a few rounds. He was replaced eventually by Ivo, who read next to him with the occasional conversation, one arm slung around his shoulders, and Vanik brought him lunch. Eskel knew the bears needed time apart from each other. They didn’t yearn for a family's comfort like the cats enjoyed their pride, or the wolves required their pack. They were lone hunters in every sense. Too much company and they’d grow genuinely disgruntled with each other’s presence.

When night fell, Grayson and Vanik came to give him a gentle headbutt apiece before retiring to their own rooms, while Junod and Ivo flanked him in the larger bed. They stroked tender circles over his back and chest until he relaxed beneath the heavy furs, his eyes slipping closed. He was safe here. Tomorrow, he’d give them more, he was determined, and he _wanted_ to. They’d shown kindness, respect; none of which he’d expected when his name had been read out a week ago. It helped more than a little when, in the early hours of the morning, he woke briefly to the deep, musky scent of arousal, the sound of a vigorous palm working a hard cock and his name being whispered longingly in the darkness.


	6. Pounding a Paw Paw [Fruit]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vipers have a chat with Gaetan and the kinky, confident Eskel we all know and love is born.
> 
> A/N: Hello, you thought I'd forgot, didn't you? Oh no. Life is just busy. Here is eleven thousand words of consent talk and tender smut. Some warnings: Gaetan has been seriously mistreated in the past and this has had an impact on his entire approach to consent, what sex should be like and his own self-image. None of what happened to him is outlined in detail.

Gaetan arrived at Kaer Morhen draped over Letho’s back. Mischief and misery were exhausting experiences to manufacture, and he knew he needed to save his energy for the next three days. The mountain of a Witcher he’d chosen as his packhorse didn’t seem to mind. After his brief dip in the lake, Gaetan’s odour had improved to a bearable level, and Letho touched one of the lean thighs at his waist thoughtfully. 

There was something quite vulnerable about their captive. 

Gaetan’s body was strong, but exhausted by overexertion; he’d worked twice as hard as he needed to lead them on a merry chase. That said more about him than he probably wanted people to know. His mind was clearly sharp - wit and intelligence in abundance - but his eyes flitted anxiously between the faces around him. Defensive, evaluating. _Where was the next attack coming from?_

Letho glanced across at Kolgrim, who was also inspecting Gaetan with the same perplexed interest. When their eyes met again, Kolgrim jutted his chin at Letho to acknowledge their shared concern, before riding ahead. Gaetan stirred only when they approached the keep and lifted his head from Letho’s shoulder to meet those inquisitive eyes; he had absolutely nothing to hide, and he was going to make sure everyone knew. Letho felt the shift immediately. A rigid tension that belied the easygoing smirk on his face. _Interesting._

“We’re not going to the baths?” Gaetan asked as he slipped down from Letho’s back, his own cracking as he stretched his arms above his head. A couple of young wolf pups scurried by, one with an armful of swords and another with a heaped basket of laundry; they cast curious glances over their shoulders, and he curled his upper lip in a challenge. His hackles were up, and he couldn’t figure out why.

“There’s a bath upstairs,” Letho murmured, guiding Gaetan towards a winding staircase. The Cat bristled, glancing over his shoulder to try and catch the eye of several of his fellows in the grand hall. There was meant to be a bit of posturing before they retired; the vipers should walk him by the others to display their success. Perhaps they were disappoin— _no_ , Gaetan was a fucking _gift._

Head held high, Gaetan hopped up the stairs three at a time and swaggered along the hallway to the heavy wooden door. It opened before he could knock. Serrit and Auckes, who’d been quietly trailing by this point, nudged him forward so they could slide past and begin stripping off their armour. Kolgrim was already down to his slacks and shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he stood by the edge of the bath with his fingers curled for igni. “Food’s on the way,” the dark-haired viper murmured, serpentine eyes lifting from the water to inspect Gaetan, “hop in.”

Serrit and Auckes stood by the window with two water bowls and some soap, while Letho undressed slowly by the fire. There was no urgency. No fevered tearing of clothes or hungry eyes perusing their prize. Only natural considering they’d been hunting in the wilderness for days, but that didn’t stop Gaetan feeling a stab of disappointment. He couldn’t afford to fuck this up. 

He stripped, leaving his clothes in a pile by the fire, and hopped over the edge of the tub. There was barely a splash as slender limbs slipped beneath the surface and flopped back with a soft groan of pleasure. “Ahh, perfect.” The temperature was set to 'just shy of scorching the skin off his bones', and he could feel his muscles ease. Kolgrim crouched down by his side with a soft cloth in one hand and a bar of faintly scented soap in the other.

“We need to discuss your boundaries,” the viper said, dipping the cloth beneath the surface of the water, “is there anything you want to mention as a firm no?” 

Gaetan shrugged. “Nah. Go wild.”

He _felt_ the stillness before he saw it. Like the entire world had paused to stare at him in bewilderment. All four of the vipers stopped mid-action, hands stilling, heads tilting. He expected to see wild excitement; he was offering to let them do anything. They had fantasies, right? Everyone did. He was a free ticket to explore them. Gaetan glanced up in anticipation of wide pupils and quirked lips. Instead, he saw _concern_ , and his stomach twisted.

Kolgrim cleared his throat. “Everyone has boundaries. There must be something—.” Out of the four of them, Kolgrim appeared the quietest. Whereas Serrit and Auckes swaggered everywhere with some kind of inherent, synchronous arrogance, and Letho strolled with quiet, earned confidence, Kolgrim bore himself with resigned detachment. Like the world was just one, non-stop disappointment and if an Arachas happened to appear miraculously from the ceiling to kill him, he really wouldn’t be that surprised. 

“Nope,” Gaetan leaned forward and took the cloth out of his hands, “don’t have anything. I’m all yours. Them’s the rules.”

“What if we’re into pain?” Auckes cut in, drifting over from the window. Freshly cleaned, he’d pulled his brakes back on and blinked at Gaetan, perplexed. One hand scrubbed over his shaven head. 

“Whatever floats your boat.”

“Piss? Shit?” Serrit joined his brother, eyes narrowed. 

Gaetan shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

“What if I want to tie you down and keep you like that for three days? Carve you up with one of my knives while I fuck you?” Letho stepped over, arms folded across his chest. If the big viper was expecting a flinch, then he was disappointed. Gaetan's poker face was flawless.

“S’what Swallow’s for.” He was given them what they wanted. Not making a fuss, and yet every word he spoke seemed to be making things worse. Gaetan dropped the cloth and cupped water with his hands. They were exchanging glances, communicating silently in a way that he did with his own clan, and he didn’t like it one single fucking bit. “Look fellas, the way I see it is: you’ve got me for three days, do what you want. You’ve done the nice guy bit, asked me what my delicate sensibilities can handle, and I’ve given you free rein. You can’t hurt me in the way you’re worried about.”

If he didn’t set limits, then they couldn’t be violated. This way, he was always in control because they weren’t doing anything without his permission. Right? Right.

“We’re meant to be looking after you,” Letho growled, “how can we do that if we don’t know what’s hurtin’ and what’s good?”

“We’re going in circles here.” Gaetan rolled his eyes. “Rail me. Slap me about,” he gestured vaguely at Serrit, “piss on me. I don’t care. It’s part of the contract, and I’m good with holding up my end.”

“Hmm,” Kolgrim uncurled from the floor, Letho frowned, and the two smaller vipers gazed at Gaetan in open confusion. He was saved from any further questioning by a loud knock at the door; three wolf pups laden with food from the kitchens. Steaming bowls of vegetables, tenderly cooked meat and crusty bread. They walked into the room, newly mutated eyes wide, and took their time depositing their offerings so that they could absorb as much of the scene as possible. The main currency in Kaer Morhen wasn’t crowns, orens or Florens after all, but _gossip._ Letho sent them scarpering with an impatient growl and almost closed the door on a stray head that popped back in to get one last glance at Gaetan.

Gaetan frowned as the vipers headed to the table to eat. They piled their plates high and set down to pick over with only odd grumbles of conversation. He didn’t expect to be bathed like some precious thing, but—well, some fucking attention would’ve been nice. He washed efficiently and retrieved the towel Kolgrim put down on a chair for him nearby. The others didn’t look up at first, and Gaetan was just beginning to scheme how he would get the whole affair started when wooden chair legs scraped across the cold stone. 

Letho left his plate to retrieve something from a canvas bag beneath the window, and Gaetan’s breath hitched a little when it unfolded through Letho’s fingers. A silk robe, emerald, with golden detailing; a viper woven into the breast, neat stitches in the collar and the cuffs. It felt luxurious against his skin as he pulled it over his shoulders and dropped down to just below his knees in length. “Huh,” Gaetan smoothed a hand down his forearm, watching the material crinkle and stretch between his fingertips, “pretty nice.”

“Silk from Metinna,” Letho said, lips tilted up in something of a rueful smirk, “courtesy of Ivar.”

“Didn’t have you lot down as the silk panties type.”

“Hm.” Letho’s eyes turned towards his bags but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, he indicated the spread of food. “Eat, then sleep.”

Gaetan took a seat between Auckes and Serrit, piled his plate up with a few scraps of meat and half an apple. His appetite had completely vanished, stomach knotted tight with tension. This wasn’t how he’d pictured his first evening in their company, and he spent the remaining half an hour at the dinner table cycling back over his conduct thus far. If he fucked this up, then the school would be disappointed. Treyse didn’t tolerate failure. Guxart would stand up for him, probably, but the old man was only second, his word carried only as much weight as Treyse decided on the day, and--

“Hey.” Letho nudged him on the arm and then indicated the door leading out of the communal room. The rest of the group had already departed while Gaetan was lost in his head, leaving Letho to gather the plates back onto the trays and snuff out the braziers dotted about the room. Gaetan followed at the big viper’s back; shoulder squared and head up, because _sleep_ meant a bit of fun first, right? Not so. There was a large bed in the middle and lots of narrower cots scattered around the outside. Auckes and Serrit occupied one apiece and were already snoring softly, while Kolgrim leafed through his journal by candlelight. The yellowed pages were full of scribbles, and messy sketches - monsters, people - but Gaetan didn’t get a chance to examine them too closely, because Letho steered him towards the bed. “I’ll be on the other side,” Letho rumbled, the firm mattress dipping beneath his bulk, “that alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” In contrast, Gaetan hopped on lightly before sinking to his knees. “Can I help you get to sleep?”

Letho raised an eyebrow and then shook his head once. “Food’s more than enough. Night, moggy.” With that, Gaetan was summarily dismissed. Letho flopped onto his side, pulled the covers over and shut his eyes. Kolgrim clicked his fingers, and the candlelight fizzled, and then there was silence. The panic snuck up on Gaetan slowly. Like a crafty little nekker snuffling through the undergrowth after the rest of its brethren had been put to the sword. Gaetan curled up beneath a blanket in his silk robe and tried to swallow it down. It didn’t recede.

His eyes dried as he stared into the darkness and listened to the men sleep around him. Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains and Gaetan blinked when the first ray fell across his face. He’d coiled so tightly into a ball that everything ached. Only when he began to uncurl, limbs complaining, did he realise one set of soft snores had been replaced by something else; the quiet scratch of charcoal across the paper. His eyes focused slowly on Kolgrim, who was propped up in his bunk, blanket over his lap. It did little to disguise his body’s waking state, with a prominent and proud erection tenting the fabric.

Gaetan smirked. “Finally.”

Kolgrim glanced up from his drawing, charcoal lowering slowly onto the pad. “Finally, what?”

“I thought you were all uninterested,” Gaetan sat up, the silk of his robe falling back to cover his thighs where it’d hitched up overnight, “want me to sort that for you?”

“No.” Kolgrim turned away and continued with his sketch.

“Oh, c’mon, look, I’m here, you’re here.” Gaetan slipped from the bed and padded over. This close, he could see the sketch. It was him, sleeping. The fall of the robe rendered in perfect, wavy lines, the crest of his thighs and the dip of his waist and rise of his shoulders in one sweeping flourish. With a lopsided grin, Gaetan extended one hand to pet Kolgrim’s hair. “Let me make a start.” 

The viper moved with all the speed and precision of his namesake, fingers curling around Gaetan’s wrist in a vice grip that cut off the circulation to his hand. “I said no,” then, with an irritable snort, he snapped his journal shut, “you see, this is the problem.”

“What?” Gaetan hissed, drawing his arm away and rubbing the reddened marks on his wrist. He didn’t see the flicker of regret pass over Kolgrim’s face.

“You don’t set boundaries for yourself, so you won’t respect ours.”

“That’s not true.” Gaetan looked over his shoulder as the others stirred behind him, Letho was the nearest and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “I can… I can respect your boundaries. I’m not some pervert.”

“Really?” Auckes emerged from the other side of the room and plopped himself down next to Letho. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure Kolgrim said no, and you just went and touched him anyway.”

“That’s - it’s -,” Gaetan stuttered, scrambling for an explanation. They were all just fucking _staring_ at him, and he felt a wave of nausea, “what do you want from me? I’ve - done everything right - I’ve - there’s - I haven’t broken any rules, I gave you a good hunt, I didn’t resist, or make a fuss on the way back.” 

“We want consent,” Letho grumbled, “well, as close as we can get it given the Hunt itself.” They weren’t delusional. The whole Hunt negated any kind of traditional consent. Gaetan would be tied down, and others would review and enjoy his body within the strict parameters of the Last Dinner. The rules were clear, and everyone who touched the two Fruits knew them. Obedience was a given because flouting them meant death. But those parameters didn’t exist inside this room, and the vipers were unwilling to proceed without some.

“I’ve given it!” Gaetan’s voice rose an octave. “I said - .”

“That we can do whatever we like,” Kolgrim murmured, “that’s not consent, that’s - .”

“A one-way ticket to a bad time,” Auckes cut in, “we’ll keep you company for three days, Cat. Play cards, drink mead and shoot the shit. But we’re not down for a no-holes-barred fuckfest without some ground rules. For us, for you. We can say no and push you away, but there are four of us and one of you. We need to be clear.”

“Ha, no holes,” Serrit piped up from his bunk, and Auckes smirked. 

The room fell silent. Gaetan slumped down onto the edge of the bed and tried not to shake. They wanted boundaries. Boundaries meant the possibility that they would be crossed; it meant Gaetan saying no and being ignored. His control stripped away. It had happened before—more than once. Gaetan said no - screamed it, cried it - and they hurt him regardless. Boundaries just invited people to break them and to take pleasure in doing so. “What kind of boundaries?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Letho tilted his head; serpentine eyes narrowed as he inspected Gaetan’s face. Well, as much as he could given that it was tilted down towards his chest. The viper’s mouth opened to better taste the air's scent and found the first bitter traces of fear. His lips pressed together in a tight line, and he looked across at Kolgrim. Their gaze met as it had the day before, a silent acknowledgement that they’d both smelt it. It was completely backwards. Boundaries should mean reassurance, not terror. “Let’s start with names,” Letho leaned back on his hands, “is there anythin’ you don’t like being called?”

“Like what?”

“My little cuddlefuck,” Auckes offered, canines revealed in a smirk, “shit like that.”

Gaetan growled and rolled his eyes. They waited patiently, and it finally sank in that he was going to have to navigate this awkward as fuck conversation before they could get to the good bit. Because he fucking _enjoyed_ sex most of the time. Big men, with big cocks and hands. It didn’t matter if they hurt him, because that was all part of it. “Boy,” he blurted out finally, “I don’t like being called ‘boy’.”

Kolgrim straightened, sweeping the blanket from his lap. “Okay,” he acknowledged, “and what about being kissed? Can we do that?”

Gaetan’s teeth clenched. He knew he was on the right track though because now Kolgrim was interested. They wanted to talk. He was here to do what they wanted, so it all tracked. “Well, that’s all part of it, isn’t it - ?” Silence followed. They waited again. This conversation was only going to move as fast as Gaetan’s ability to answer honestly. A snail’s pace it was, then. “Yeah, I like it.” 

“Everywhere?”

“What d’you mean _everywhere_?”

“Mouth, nipples, ass?” Letho listed, head tilted patiently.

“Yeah, all fine,” Gaetan clenched his fists, “if we go through every possible way to fuck, we’re going to be talking for three days.”

“If it’s the only way you’re gonna’ tell us anythin’, then so be it.” Letho slumped back against the pillows and folded his arms loosely. “Or you could actually just tell us off the bat. What you like, what you don’t like, and we can have a bit of a cuddle before breakfast.”

Gaetan glared at Auckes and Serrit, who were lolling over the bed and snickering quietly. _Little fucks._ As Gaetan's shoulders bunched and his fists clenched, Serrit sat up. “No need to be glarin’ fire and brimstone, mogster, we’re only teasing. C’mon, tell us. What d’you like? What’re we doing today?”

“I -” he started, but the words fizzled out in his throat. No one had ever asked before. _What do I like?_ It wasn’t something he’d thought about in detail. As a Witcher of the Path, he took sex where he could get it and didn’t really care what form it took as long as it scratched the itch. Fuck, it didn't really have to be that enjoyable...

“He doesn’t know,” Kolgrim rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Wait - I -,” Gaetan growled, huffing an irritable breath through his nose, “I like to get fucked, and I like it when someone holds my wrists down, and a bit of,” he flushed to the very tips of his ears and saw Serrit nudge Auckes with his elbow, “biting. Just a bit. Enough to leave a mark.” 

“It’s a start,” Letho said, “now how about your edges?”

Gaetan glanced between Letho and Kolgrim. They were at risk of going around in circles if he defaulted back to his previous position. He fiddled with the hem of the silk robe around his shoulders, ground his teeth and scrambled for something. If he drew a boundary, just one, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they happened to cross it. He’d choose something he could handle happening because it’d happened so often before. “Don’t hit me, or draw blood. That shit’s for the Path, not for fucking.” 

Letho hummed and then both he and Kolgrim stood. Gaetan swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his lean throat; he felt a small stab of trepidation. It was significant enough to make his shoulders bunch and his toes curl on the floor. He needn’t have worried. The two bigger Witchers walked towards the bedroom door, Letho calling back over his shoulder. “We need to report to Ivar, get some food. Spend a few hours with Auckes and Serrit and see how you feel.”

“Relax,” Auckes folded onto the bed in a deft forward roll, and ended up sitting at Gaetan’s side, with Serrit quick to join him on the other, “big boys are gone. Can I take the robe off and get a proper look?”

“Like you weren’t eyeing him up over dinner,” Serrit sneered, but there was no edge to his tone. Gaetan stood and spread his arms in offering, which Auckes gladly accepted. Agile fingers picked open the silk sash wrapped loosely at Gaetan’s waist and then pushed the robe off his shoulders. The emerald material pooled around the cat’s ankles and Auckes hummed in appreciation. Gaetan watched serpentine eyes adjust in the dim light, Auckes’ pupils widening to swallow as much of the body before him as they could.

“Not bad,” Auckes breathed, lifting a hand from his slide to place it gently on Gaetan’s chest. His mouth opened and Gaetan half expected a kiss, but it didn’t come. Auckes’ tongue flicked out, and he took several deep breaths, “smell good too.”

“An improvement from the cave, anyway.” Serrit grinned as he bounced off the bed, sipping at the air just like his brother had, before circling to stand at Gaetan’s back. They were both dressed in braies and loose sleeping shirts, Gaetan felt the brush of the soft material against the top of his ass when Serrit leaned in to touch him. “You said you liked being bitten. You say that because of who we are?”

“You asked, I told you,” Gaetan bristled, only to still immediately when he felt Serrit’s lips against the back of his neck. Auckes kept their eyes level, finger touching beneath Gaetan’s chin to keep his head up, and watched him intently. They were testing him. Letho and Kolgrim had left him with the two smallest of their clan because they thought he would feel more at ease, and now they were seeing whether he’d told the truth. He would be riled if it weren’t for the very gentle press of teeth into the muscle at his shoulder. 

The pressure was almost ponderous at first, two hands resting lightly at Gaetan’s waist to keep him steady, and then Serrit bit a little harder, sucking in on the slip of skin and muscle trapped in his mouth. A thrill ran the length of Gaetan’s spine, and his cock twitched against his thigh, waking from its anxiety-induced stupor. Serrit lifted his mouth away and blew over wet skin, smiling when Gaetan shivered. The scent of arousal thickened between them, and Auckes’ mouth dropped open to breathe it in. “Well, he wasn’t lying,” the viper purred.

"Just enough to leave a mark," Serrit murmured, returning to Gaetan's neck for another nibble. It was a little harder this time. He sucked Gaetan's skin into his mouth and applied enough pressure to leave a small love bite. Auckes stroked the backs of his fingers down Gaetan's lean stomach, watching the cat's eyes widen and flicker. He _hadn't_ lied. This… _this_ was good. Usually, no one took the time to mark him up properly. There was no point. Witchers healed too quickly. But the sting of it, the wetness of someone's mouth on the bruise, the quiet moans on his skin… Gaetan slumped against Serrit with a sigh of relief, and the viper wrapped his arms a little tighter. If this were his reward for talking, then he would do it more often.

Auckes lapped at the air again, tasting the scent as only vipers did, and his gaze dropped to Gaetan's quivering cock. It was a pretty thing. Perfectly formed, with a pink crown and smooth, satin shaft, only just big enough to peek out the grip of his palm. He dropped to his knees and licked a stripe from root to tip. The taste of Gaetan's arousal splashed over his tongue, bitter and thick, and he leaned forward to swallow him properly. 

As he sank into the wet heat of Auckes' mouth and Serrit continued to brand a trail over his neck and shoulders, Gaetan began to pant and shake. He clung onto Serrit's forearm as his knees weakened and swallowed a squeak when Auckes picked up one of his legs to drape over his shoulder. It gave him better access to Gaetan's balls, the delicate skin between his legs soft and unmarked. Gaetan whimpered at the nip of teeth and the sweep of a hot, thick tongue that almost reached far enough to brush his hole. When Gaetan came, he gritted his teeth and confined his noise to a quiet bubble in his chest. No one wanted to hear his pathetic whimpers. His cock spurted over the side of Auckes' head while his lips were occupied with Gaetan's sac. Come clung to the arch of his ear and beaded in the shaven bristles on his head. 

They were both still hard. Gaetan could feel the thick line of Serrit's cock against the small of his back, and the wet tip of Auckes' brushed over his as he stood. Auckes ran his fingers through the seed on the side of his face, slipping them into his mouth as he held Gaetan's gaze. Gaetan swallowed, trying to blink his way out of the soft haze that always tried to settle after an orgasm because he had a job to do. But when he reached for Auckes' cock, the viper nudged his hands away. "No," Auckes said simply, and Serrit lifted Gaetan onto the bed.

"Oh, yeah, got oil then?" he asked, hopeful. It wouldn't be the first time someone had spit in their fists and seen it as adequate. Gaetan tried to arrange himself on his hands and knees, but Serrit dragged him down onto the mattress. The two vipers coiled around him, binding their limbs together to keep him still. Auckes' nose nudged into the crease behind his ear, and he felt the tip of his tongue again. "What're you doing?"

"Cuddlin' before breakfast," Serrit murmured, and gave Gaetan a little squeeze, "we always do. Don't like it?"

"I just… you're hard, don't you want to get off?" Gaetan swallowed, anxious. This wasn't going how he'd planned. Why were they being so fucking difficult? Now that he'd been told 'no', the word was reverberating around his head, and he kneaded nervously at the blankets to keep his hands occupied.

"Yeah, after breakfast," Auckes yawned against Gaetan's neck and then gave him another little squeeze. It was instinctual, Gaetan realised. They wanted to hold him tighter but were moderating the pressure.

"I'm not some fragile little kitten, you don't have to coddle me," he grated.

"S'always about you, isn't it?" Serrit sighed, "ever think that maybe some people just like to bask in your afterglow for a bit? Stop tainting your scent with nerves and calm down. You're not failing; there isn't a quota you have to meet."

Gaetan bristled at being told to 'calm down', and then he felt the press of Auckes' teeth in his neck. He shivered, spine arching, and Serrit murmured his appreciation. Wet tongues lapped up his sweat, teased over the marks and bruises Serrit had left earlier, and Gaetan melted with a quiet sigh. He couldn't figure them out. Couldn't get his head around people who didn't want him to be of service to them. They held him until he was soft and pliant, and his sleepless night caught up with him. He fell asleep in their arms.

***

Gaetan woke slowly to the subtle smell of fresh food nearby. The heavy weight of the furs pulled up to his chin made him feel safe and content, and he stared into space for some time before his mind finally caught up. Someone big stirred in the corner of the room, and Gaetan's eyes snapped into focus. _Letho._ "Welcome back."

"What time is it?" Gaetan sat up with a quiet grunt.

"Gone sunset."

"What?" Gaetan's eyes widened. The first fucking day had been and gone, and all he'd done was come on Auckes' face. He was failing. This whole fucking ordeal was out of his control. They could refuse to touch him, and then tell everyone what a disappointment he was, how he hadn't been worth the time. _Not even good to lay on your back, Gaetan._ "Why the fuck didn't you wake me? You - I - don't tell anyone I slept the first day. They'll - I'll never live it down."

Letho huffed, amused. He approached Gaetan's bedside clutching a plate piled with meat and bread. "You can tell 'em whatever you want. That we railed you dawn 'til dusk. We won't correct you."

"What's stopping me of accusing you of mistreatment, then?" Gaetan knew he was facetious, and pointedly ignored the food placed in his lap in favour of glaring at Letho.

"You'd risk an inter-school war because we hurt your pride?" the viper asked, his eyebrow raised.

"You didn't hurt my pride, you… you're just…"

"Just what?"

"Why are you being nice to me?" Gaetan snarled, fists clenched and shaking. Chest puffed with anger, teeth clenched, Gaetan was further incensed when Letho didn't seem at all affected. 

"Hm," Letho hummed thoughtfully, scratching his jaw, "why're you suspicious of common decency?"

"Stop answering my questions with another fucking question."

"Then stop asking stupid questions."

Gaetan snapped. The plate ended up at the far end of the room, and he lunged at Letho. It was completely irrational. He'd done nothing to earn it. But Gaetan needed to see them behave like he expected them to; cold, horny and uninterested in him otherwise. It’d all been mapped out in his head from the moment his name had been put forward. His stage, his puppets, _his way_. If everything went as he had planned it, then he couldn’t be hurt. He needed control back.

Gaetan was small and quick, but Letho's size belied a man with the reflexes that made even a cat’s eyes widen. He plucked Gaetan from the air, furs discarded and wrapped his thick arms around the spitting ball in his arms. His big hands folded over Gaetan's fists to cut off the Sign before it formed, and his grip tightened until Gaetan was struggling for air. 

Letho let up slowly, ready to pull tight again if Gaetan bit or clawed him, but he needn't have worried. His tongue dashed out of his mouth briefly, and he tasted salt in the air. _Tears._ Slowly, he unravelled and rested Gaetan on the bed next to him, taking the cat's narrow chin to cut off the attempt to burrow away. "I didn't squeeze you that hard."

"No," Gaetan whispered, his shoulders hunched as he tried to curl up. "I get it, alright? You don’t want me; you wanted the other one, so, just… I'll grab my clothes and sleep out on the chair." Of course, they'd want the chunky wolf. _Gaetan_ wanted the chunky wolf. He was a shit consolation prize.

Given Gaetan's manipulations so far, Letho might've been forgiven for thinking this to be another one, but it wasn't. Gaetan stank of misery, and that was hard to fake. "We don't want you to sleep on the chair. We want you in our bed."

"Then why all the fucking rules? Why are you treating me like a - a -."

"Lover?"

Gaetan recoiled from the word. He'd never been anyone's lover. Fuck toy, amusement, at best. He'd never been too bitter about it. That was just his lot in life, and he enjoyed it sometimes, so the unpleasantness that characterised most of his liaisons were worth it. Nothing had ever quite been as bad as -

"You don't have to answer this," Letho said, finally, "but I'll warn you that a non-answer will tell me as much as a verbal one." He paused and waited for Gaetan to focus on him. "Did you ever get revenge on the person who hurt you the first time?"

The pause stretched, long and heavy, until Gaetan’s shoulders hunched in resignation. "No," he rasped, "they were bigger than me. More important." He deflated further, but Letho wouldn't let him curl up on himself. One big arm remained looped beneath Gaetan's head, his chin cupped by a huge hand.

"They at the conference?"

"No."

"Shame," Letho growled, his lip curling, and then he snorted, "no, it's good. It means they won't see you at the Last Dinner, which you don't have to do. One of us will do it in your place."

"What?" Gaetan's eyes blew wide, "but the dishonour, I'd… no, fuck, then they'd ask why. Then I'd… then…"

"Alright."

"Is that even allowed?"

Letho shrugged. "I ain't one to ask permission before I do the right thing. I just do it."

"Well, shit," Gaetan managed a watery smile, "you lot really pin down the 'snakes are so misunderstood' stereotype, huh?"

Letho grinned again. It was lopsided on his craggy face, and Gaetan lifted a hand to touch it. He caught himself just short, and his fingers curled into his palm. Gaetan's hesitancy earned him another quiet huff, and Letho cupped his hand to bring it to his lips. "You can touch me. However, you like."

"Hang on," Gaetan's eyes narrowed even as he drew his forefinger over Letho's lower lip, "that's not how it works."

"Hm, who says you can't teach a cat tricks?"

"Careful, scales, I've got claws," Gaetan hissed, dipping his nail gently into Letho's chin to emphasise the point, "tell me how you like it."

"Hmm." Letho leaned over a little more. "Nails down my back when I've got someone on the edge of an orgasm. Slow kisses, and," Letho guided Gaetan's hand from his face to the huge mounds of his chest, clasping finger and thumb around one pebbled nipple, "stroking first, pinching when I'm hard."

"What about your dick? How'd you like that touched?"

Letho shrugged. "Not particular, it's a tool for making others feel good. Not too rough, I suppose."

"How very selfless.” Gaetan’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “It's fucking massive. I've seen it."

"Yeah. Worried you can't take it?"

"I'll take it, I want it, but I -," Gaetan paused on the verge of drawing another line. Letho caught it before he could hide the twist in his lips and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "I can't take more than one. It, uh… there's not enough room."

"It hurts," Letho translated for him, and when Gaetan scowled, Letho just sighed. "You think if you had said you find it painful that I'd have taken it as an invitation."

Gaetan didn't answer verbally at first. He didn't need to, because the way his eyes dropped said everything for him. When he finally did speak, he sounded resigned. "Most people do."

"You are fucking the wrong people," Letho murmured. His tongue darted out again, and he frowned. This time, Gaetan couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Why do you do that? You all lick the air," he grabbed Letho's chin and peered at his lips, only to yelp when Letho's tongue darted out and caught him between the eyes, "git."

"Our sense of smell isn't the best. Not compared to the rest of you. But we can taste better, and the two are… linked. Hmm, it's hard to explain. Bottom line, if we think something smells good, we put it in our mouths for… a closer look."

Gaetan blinked. Auckes had practically glowed when lapping up his cum, and then the two of them hadn't stopped licking him for ages afterwards. "And if it, uh, tastes good?"

"Depends. Eat it is the general rule.” Letho smirked as the colour rose up Gaetan’s neck. “Let me guess, Auckes and Serrit had a good old feast?”

“They didn’t exactly hold back.” The vivid memory of Auckes’ mouth on his prick and Serrit’s teeth in his neck had an immediate impact, his cock thickening against his thigh. The burgeoning arousal in his scent caught Letho’s attention, and in the next moment, the viper was licking a slow, broad strip up Gaetan’s throat. He kissed the rapidly fading bruises left by Serrit and notched his nose beneath Gaetan’s jaw with a soft hiss. 

“When we fuck, we don’t just use our pricks, Gaetan,” Letho growled, “We use everything, we _want_ everything. Tasting your partner’s pleasure, on the air, on their skin, and then having that taste inside you is… hmm, it’s the best bit. Headier than any drug out there.”

“So, being happy makes me a better fuck,” Gaetan whispered, his eyes lidded as Letho’s broad palm began to stroke down the length of his body. His hand was so big that his fingers splayed over Gaetan’s chest from side to side, small finger and thumb teasing his nipples in slow circles. “You can taste if I’m not into it.”

“That,” Letho stopped, hand resting in the centre of Gaetan’s stomach, “and we’re not assholes.” 

“We care about your experience,” said another voice from the door. Kolgrim slipped into the room, leaving the door ajar at his back, “the coupling is incomplete without mutual happiness and enjoyment, don’t you think?” Dark amber eyes ran the length of Gaetan’s form, lips parting for a deep breath. Gaetan gazed up at him from the pillow and could see his face soften in pleasure. He liked what he could see, what he could _taste_ , and a weight vanished from Gaetan’s shoulders. 

“Never really thought about it much,” Gaetan said, shifting further into Letho’s arms when Kolgrim settled on his other side. Letho started stroking him again; a listless journey around his torso, over his throat and along his jaw. Letho traced scars and lingered over areas that made Gaetan’s breath hitch, returning later just to stoke the scent of happiness ever higher. 

Kolgrim watched at first, his lips parted so that every breath drew in the bouquet of desire and pleasure perfuming the air. When he’d tasted his fill on the sidelines, he adjusted onto his elbow and touched Gaetan’s shoulder lightly. “Can I touch you like Letho?”

“Fuck, _please_.” Gaetan felt light like he was floating slightly above himself. The furs were softer than they had before, and his entire body glowed in the wake of Letho’s hand. The calluses on Kolgrim’s fingers were different, but his touch was just as tender. He smoothed his thumb and forefinger over Gaetan’s eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose, and the pleasure throbbed behind Gaetan’s eyes. “Mmm.”

“Feel alright?”

“Is good,” Gaetan managed because _everything_ felt good. The whisper of Letho’s touch over his navel, the way he teased across the fine hairs on Gaetan’s thighs and slowly coaxed them apart to reveal the unmarked skin on the inside. When Letho touched just beneath his balls for the first time, Gaetan gasped and let out a soft moan. He clamped his mouth shut immediately. 

“No, no,” Kolgrim said softly, thumb brushing over Gaetan’s lower lip, “open. We want to hear.”

“Really?” Gaetan breathed in disbelief. No one wanted to _hear_. It was ‘shut up, keep the fucking noise down’ and ‘stop being a whiny little bitch’. He felt the tears well at the corners of his eyes again and cast Kolgrim a tentative glance. Those dark eyes, like a rich summer’s mead, were still soft. So, Gaetan did something he hadn’t done in a long time. Softly, tentatively, he let a little purr rumble in his chest. 

“Well, well,” Letho ducked his head and pressed his ear to Gaetan’s chest, “if that ain’t the loveliest sound I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes,” Kolgrim grinned, hand returning to pet Gaetan gently between the eyes. The purr only intensified, and Letho sat back on his elbow again. He kept his caresses light, fingertips featherlight down the seam of Gaetan’s sac to his hole. It twitched beneath a few light strokes, and Gaetan nibbled on his lower lip as he spread his legs a little further.

“Not tonight,” Letho said, returning to Gaetan’s thighs, “alright?”

“Yeah.” Gaetan realised he didn’t much mind. Now he’d uncorked the purr, he couldn’t quieten it. Whenever Kolgrim or Letho returned to a place that sent sparks across his skin, it swelled a little louder before plateauing again. After what felt like hours, a freshly bathed Auckes ambled in and immediately draped over Letho’s back, with Serrit not far behind. They were both delighted by their vibrating feline, and their hands joined the gentle mapping of Gaetan’s body. 

They teased his nipples, nosed and kissed his chest, his neck, his thighs. Gaetan was so lost in the tide of pleasure that his orgasm snuck up on him, cock filling and pulsing, mostly untouched but for a few passing glances. He moaned loudly. Louder than he ever had before, his back bowing a little as Kolgrim tugged a nipple a little harder and Letho nibbled along his jaw. 

Serrit rolled lazily between his legs and set about lazily licking him clean. Although he’d only awoken a few hours before, Gaetan fell asleep easily wrapped in the coils of his snakes, their arms and legs looping around him protectively, mouths occasionally opening in their sleep to lick him. Their soft, sleepy smiles meant they could only taste happiness.

***

“Junod, c’mon. Don’t make me beg.”

“The cub’s sleeping.”

“I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how upset he was.”

“It was fine. _He_ was fine.”

“He smelt miserable again, I thought we’d - _fuck,_ thought we’d hurt him, or - c’mon, just, I need to feel - .”

“Alright. Calm down, you’re working yourself up, and you’ll wake him.”

“I’ll be quiet.” It was Ivo. Now that his mind was clearing from the fog of sleep, Eskel could recognise his voice.

“No, you won’t,” Junod rumbled, with a tinge of amusement. There was a shift as his weight left the mattress, and then another as he returned on the other side. The saccharine scent of the oil they’d used the day before cut through the musk of need, and the sound of Junod’s fingers pressing into Ivo’s body made Eskel’s prick stir beneath him. Ivo muffled his groan in the furs, and Eskel heard the shuffle of his knees across them as he spread his thighs.

From what Eskel knew of the most averagely built bear, he was sharp, sarcastic and guarded; there was very little, Eskel wagered, that could intimidate Ivo. But his whispers moments earlier had made him sound vulnerable, in desperate need of comfort. Eskel could hear his pleased sighs as Junod’s fingers worked into him and risked peeking over his arm. On his front, it would be difficult for the others to see his eyes over the mound of his bicep and the curtain of black hair across his face.

Ivo rested on his front, with his knees braced and ass raised. Junod slid his fingers in and out of Ivo’s eager body lazily, and Eskel could see his prick, thick and red, hovering just shy of Ivo’s cleft. His own fattened beneath his hips, and he felt his pulse quicken. He was so fixated on the slow rock of Junod’s hand that he missed the small smile on the great bear’s face; he’d been rumbled.

“Junod… _please_ , I’m ready,” Ivo growled, face pressing hard into the heavy fabric beneath it. Junod didn’t appear to have heard; he kept pressing three fingers in deep until Ivo began to shake, huffing into the bed covers in short, sharp pants. “ _Junod,_ ” he pleaded a desperate whine.

“Hush,” Junod whispered, “I’ve got you. I was just teasin’.” He leaned forward, broad chest draping over Ivo’s back. Eskel heard the moment his cock pressed inside in Ivo’s muted whimpers and Junod’s satisfied groan. “Oh, Little Bear.” One of those thick arms curled beneath Ivo’s chest, forcing him up and back onto Junod’s prick. Eskel could see Ivo’s dripping long strings of precome onto the furs below; he arched his spine, twisting in search of a kiss as he latched onto Junod’s big forearm. Junod tugged at his lower lip and then nuzzled into the side of his head. “Better?”

“Yeah…”

“Love you,” Junod grumbled. It was a _happy_ grumble. A landslide of contentment passing through Junod’s entire body as he rocked slowly into Ivo. They licked and nipped at each other, their sex closer to lovemaking than a simple comfort fuck, and Ivo nuzzled up into Junod’s beard with a rumble of adoration. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Eskel had never felt more stupid.

Ivo had stayed in the same bed as Junod even when the others had retired; the familiar touches they exchanged at every opportunity; the way that Ivo calmed when Junod was near and had cuddled up to him the day before when Eskel was carefully taken to pieces. The subtle nature of their love made it no less powerful as it unfolded before Eskel’s eyes.

_‘Of Belhaven’._

Junod hadn’t taken Ivo’s honorific as a joke or even as blood brothers. He’d taken it as a spouse. Ivo’s offhanded dismissal was his attempt to keep it safe, keep it precious. There were very few things in life that a Witcher got to have to himself. Everything was shared with the School, with others on the Path; nothing of value ever stayed yours for long. Ivo guarded what he had with Junod behind his brash attitude and poor reputation, and Junod, who hadn’t even flinched when Ivo had dismissed their shared name so flippantly, _understood_. 

“Come here, cub,” Junod growled, his eyes opening lazily to settle on Eskel. The gyration of his hips had stilled, and he lowered Ivo gently to the mattress. “Quickly.”

Eskel pushed up onto his hands and knees to crawl over, too dumbstruck at being caught to worry about invading their moment. Ivo gazed up at him from the mattress with hazy eyes, and that shit-eating smirk was back, if only faintly. His ass was still clutching at Junod’s cock, and Eskel’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of stretched, glistening skin wrapped around a shaft flushed a deep red. Junod pulled out slowly and motioned Eskel closed. “Kneel behind him.”

“But, he’s your…”

“Hurry up,” Ivo groaned, “ _fuck_ , my balls are harder than granite after yesterday.” 

Junod raised his eyebrows at Eskel, who gingerly slipped into the space made for him. His prick twitched as he gazed down at the tight, puffy circle of muscle, still slick with oil. Junod’s palm slipped down his arm, stroking over bicep and forearm, before taking the back of his hand. “Hmm, nails are trim, good,” the bear said, and then folded Eskel’s finger down until only two remained. “Remember that spot that Vanik showed you yesterday?”

“Yes,” Eskel replied breathlessly.

“Couple of inches in, towards his belly. Slightly different in everybody you’ll touch, so you’ll need to tease your wolf a little while you find it, but more or less the same place,” Junod guided his hand down until his fingertips circled. The heat, the softness; Eskel’s lips parted in awe as he caressed under Junod’s guidance. Ivo sighed and splayed his knees a little wider once more, and Junod pressed Eskel’s fingers gently inside. “Now you need to--.”

“Be gentle, no scissoring, it’ll hurt him,” Eskel murmured through Grayson’s instructions as he pressed his fingers deeper. Tight muscles gripped, fluttered, and Eskel was completely enamoured. Ivo’s quiet little huffs, the way his flanks quivered, his fingers kneading at the blankets; Eskel was doing that. “What does the spot feel like?”

“Hmm, ‘bout walnut-sized, sometimes bigger in older men,” Junod nuzzled into the side of Eskel’s head, snuffling through his hair, before dipping to press a kiss against the slope of his neck. The tension in Eskel’s body began to ease, but he still felt the pressure of the trust placed in him by both Junod and Ivo. This was their bond. Their partnership. He knelt between their bodies as an imposter - or so he felt at first - but as he teased further into Ivo, and the bear moaned softly, he felt Junod’s pleasure-grumble vibrate against his chest. “Take your time. He complains, but if you touch him just right, he’ll sing sweeter than any harpsichord.” 

“Hnngh-- _ahh!_ ” Ivo arched as Eskel’s fingers wandered over the right spot. The wolf froze, back straightening, and then Junod chuckled. One big palm rested over Eskel’s wrist, guiding him on, and Ivo groaned again. Now that he wasn’t worried about waking a sleeping wolf cub, he was happy to croon at his usual volume. “ _Fuck_ , cub. Give me your cock already. Stop teasing,” Ivo growled and then gasped again when Eskel gave him a reproachful stroke. 

Junod grinned into Eskel’s hair and tugged his hand away. “Hold his hip, stroke him,” he whispered, and then reached down to guide the blunt head of Eskel’s cock to Ivo’s hole; the wolf cub sucked in a harsh breath as his sensitive glans teased around the slick, quivering muscle, relaxed and eager for him, before Junod pressed him just inside. “Move your hips forward slowly, smaller thrusts to let him get used to it, don’t slam straight in, not until you know your lover.”

“No, slam me,” Ivo whimpered, “please, _gods,_ my balls feel--.”

“Hush,” Junod slapped an asscheek, and Ivo clenched around Eskel, who was no more than halfway in. He saw stars—bright blotches that scattered through his vision—and let out a choked moan; his cock gripped in a vice of wet heat. Junod hummed apologetically. “Oh, hmm, yeah. Don’t do that unless… you know, you should ask first.”

“Okay,” Eskel rasped, his body quaking, as he sank into Ivo until his hips pressed to the curves of his ass. He closed his eyes and took a moment to gather himself, but was distracted by every new sensation that curled through his body. The heat of Ivo’s balls against his, the feel of his skin, slick with sweat, and the overwhelming pleasure of Ivo’s heat throbbing around him. Eskel could feel the beat of his heart as if it was connected to his; he’d never felt so close to another person before. He leaned forward without prompting to place a kiss in the centre of Ivo’s back, giving in to an instinct that coiled from somewhere deep. Startled, he glanced over his shoulder at Junod but saw two eyes dark with lust.

“Go on cub, don’t leave him wanting. Do what feels right,” the big bear murmured as he stood from the mattress, his touch on Eskel’s hips no more than a featherlight caress. “Just like you move your hips on the training ground. All those pretty little turns you wolves do. Perfect for this.” Junod moved away because he trusted Eskel to treat his partner with the tenderness he deserved. Everything he’d seen of Eskel—his bright smile, his gentle heart—assured him that Ivo wouldn’t be left hurting or bereft.

“Ivo,” Eskel whispered as he leaned over to kiss his shoulders. At first, he imitated what he’d seen Junod do; he kissed and rocked his hips slowly, with Ivo’s ass pressed up against him. It was enjoyable—Ivo became more vocal as Eskel found his angle, but somehow, he wanted to be closer. With a little bit of coaxing, he pushed Ivo into the bed and draped himself over, his hips grinding forward in slow, graceful rolls. He knew he’d got it right when Ivo bit out a soft whimper of awe and began to clutch at the blankets.

“Oh, fuck, _fuck_ , Eskel, uh,” Ivo gasped Eskel’s name—not the affectionate moniker they’d bestowed upon him—and Eskel felt a surge of pride and arousal in his chest. _Equal._ He bit gently at the back of Ivo’s neck and nudged his thighs a little wider, grinding deep. The drive to have his lover close was too strong, and he curled his arms around that furred chest, pushing his own into the sweat on his back. Every sense was crowded with the musk of desperate need, and _Eskel_ was the one stoking it higher; he buried his nose against Ivo’s neck, occasionally nipping or kissing, but otherwise, he focused on his pace, his angle. When the man beneath him let out a soft cry, his entire body shaking, Eskel knew he’d done well. 

“Keep going, take him through it; he wants to be full of you,” Junod whispered. He’d taken up position on the opposite edge of the bed on his knees; his palms were upturned like he was meditating, but for the raging erection curled up over his stomach. The sight of his husband falling to pieces under Eskel almost too much for his iron control. Eskel uncurled from Ivo’s back and let him slump into the bed, driving into him as his body clenched greedily. His own orgasm was within easy reach; he’d shelved it to focus on his lover, but now he was pliant and spent below him it was easy to find those last few shreds of pleasure he needed.

Coming inside someone was different to spilling over his own hand; the intimacy of it was almost as overwhelming as the grip of Ivo’s body. He could still feel the throb of Ivo’s orgasm around his prick as he twitched and pulsed against his walls, tight and wet. Eskel let out a low, feral growl and sucked another kiss into Ivo’s shoulder as he ground in as deep as he could go. For but a moment, with Ivo sprawled out beneath him, Eskel owned him. _Mine. All mine._ It wasn’t just a wave of possessiveness, though; he wanted to cradle, hold, lick, and kiss. This man was his treasure to worship. 

As his teeth left their mark in Ivo’s skin, he drew away to nose along his hairline, the tip brushing through beads of sweat pregnant with his lover’s scent. “Alright, cub, you can’t stay in me forever,” Ivo husked, voice tinged with amusement. 

“Why not?” Eskel growled back but checked himself when he received a raised eyebrow and, quietly murmuring an apology, withdrew. He didn’t get far. Ivo flipped over and snagged him by the chin; Eskel fell into the bear’s chest with a grunt, but soon melted into the kiss that consumed his mouth. It was different from the one that he’d shared with Junod the day before; Ivo used more teeth, preferred to suck and nip on Eskel’s lips and sent sparks of pleasure through his jaw. It was still _so good._

Ivo’s noises had roused the others. Vanik swanned in, completely naked already, and Grayson stood in the doorway with his braies slanting from his hip. “What a show.”

“Mm,” Junod, eyes misty with yearning, watched Eskel straddled Ivo’s hips, and his prick twitched, “he won’t leave his wolf unsatisfied.” 

Eskel looked up at the wistful, distant tone in Junod’s voice. The smell of lust and longing rolled off him in waves; it overcame even the musk of the new arrivals as they made themselves comfortable on the bed around them. As he tried to pull away, Ivo grappled on and pulled him down. “Junod wants you. Will you let him?”

The evening before Eskel had resolved to give the bears everything they wanted, but he still felt a swell of anxiety as his eyes dropped down to Junod’s cock. It was so fucking big. It’d break him in half. Eskel looked down at Ivo, and his anxiety eased. If Eskel could make Junod feel the way _Ivo_ had made him feel, then he wanted to give that. He wanted the giant bear that had kissed him, whispered gently to him, and held him through his fear, to feel just as close and complete. “Y—yeah,” Eskel said, finally. “Please, Junod… I—,” he flushed, “I want you… like that.”

“Hurr hurr,” Vanik chuckled, “cub, you need to get used to spelling out what you want. Not all of us are as… uh, poetically inclined.”

Grayson, who was sitting close to his side, smacked him on the arm. “Shut up, idiot,” he growled and then indicated his lap with narrowed eyes. For a brief moment, Eskel thought they might scuffle again, but Vanik simply curled his upper lip and moved to straddle Grayson’s thighs. His own muscled legs bulged as he cocked his hips, and he let out a soft moan as Grayson stroked his hole with the pad of his thumb, taking his hard cock in the other. 

Junod watched his comrades settle and then moved across the bed to Eskel’s side. He stroked a hand down his back and leaned down to kiss both his partner and their newly acquired lover, with cheeky laps of the tongue. Eskel relaxed under his palm and arched up as he needed at the firm flesh of his ass. The oil still rested on the mattress nearby, and Junod snatched it up as he readjusted. Ivo had Eskel draped over him, both their legs spread wide. Junod stroked his thumb down Eskel’s cleft, teasing gently at his hole, still so small and tight. “Relax,” he whispered at the slight flutter of tension and proceeded to pour the contents of the oil across that tender skin. 

This time Eskel knew what to expect, but it was no less overwhelming when Junod’s forefinger pressed inside. It started with just the tip, teasing and tugging, and then Eskel felt the second knuckle nudge against his rim. “Mm, more,” he whispered, rocking back slowly. His body opened slowly around the thicker part of Junod’s finger, pink furl clutching needily. Ivo kissed him slowly, petting his hair and his thigh, soothing him even as his knees kept Eskel splayed wide and exposed. When a second finger pushed in, Eskel grunted and bowed, shuddering moments later when they teased over his prostate. 

It was easy to drop into the kisses Ivo offered, Eskel’s arms curling up around his head, while Ivo’s floated up and down his back and sides; gentle, soothing caresses that were there to anchor him as Junod slowly eased in a third finger. His prick was filling again as the burning pleasure, the stretch, intensified. “Junod, _please_ …”

“Patience,” Junod murmured, his other large palm resting on the small of Eskel’s back, “you need to focus on enjoying it all. It’s never a rush to the end. This is as much part of it as my prick.” 

Ivo nibbled Eskel’s lower lip and nuzzled their noses together. “He doesn’t get what it’s like teetering on the edge. Beg as much as you want. Makes it better. Go on, beg him, cub. Tell him exactly what you want. The thought will drive him crazy.”

Eskel felt the usual surge of heat, but reasoned his way out of the well of embarrassment; the man was knuckle-deep in his ass and sending waves of pleasure through him like the moon guiding the tide. “Please fuck me, Junod… I need it,” Eskel whispered, and Ivo nipped his jaw in encouragement, “need your dick, wa—want to feel what it’s like to to be f—full of cum, want to—nnngh.”

“Oh, he’ll play dirty,” Ivo whispered near Eskel’s ear, tucking his face down against his shoulders. “Try and get you to moan rather than speak.”

“Ivo,” Junod smirked at the two mischievous amber eyes watching him over Eskel’s shoulder. They only ever looked so bright on rare occasions, and apparently, Eskel qualified as worthy of such a flare. Eskel was rocking back onto his fingers, his hole slick and glistening with their lightly perfumed oil, and Junod drew his fingers out slowly. There was no time for Eskel to grunt or groan his complaint because Junod lined his cock up and gently nudged his head inside. The sight of Eskel’s body yielding, his rim opening wide around the flare of his crown, made Junod groan almost as much as the _feel_ of him bearing down. “Eskel, relax… breathe…”

Eskel whimpered into Ivo’s shoulder, and tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. The stretch _burned._ There was no painful sting, no awful wrench as his muscles tore to accommodate as he’d expected, but he felt Junod pressing into him in every muscle in his body. “Oh, _oh, mmm,_ ” he gasped as he felt Junod pull back, gently teasing him with the flare of his head. “More, more, please, more.” His cock was hard again, precome leaking into the soft hair of Ivo’s belly as his stomach clenched with pleasure. Another swell dripped free every time Junod thrust a little deeper, and Ivo winked at Junod over Eskel’s shoulder.

“Oh, fuck, _fuck,_ he likes it so much,” Vanik growled, thrusting forward into Grayson’s hand as he gazed at Eskel’s cock drunk expression. He’d said yesterday Eskel would look beautiful speared open and he wasn’t wrong; his amber eyes glazed, his handsome jaw slack, dark hair tousled and sticking to the sweat on his face. The thick muscles of his ass and thighs quivered with each of Junod’s powerful thrusts, muscular body submitting to the pleasure rolling through it. “Look, Grayson, look—nnh.” A slight arch of the spine as Grayson ran a thumb over his sensitive slit, sweeping away the beads of milky white.

“Mm, maybe one day you won’t be such a baby about it and let us do it to you,” Grayson rumbled, massaging the pad of his thumb a little firmer into Vanik’s hole before drawing away to take himself in hand.

“Fuck you, old man,” Vanik grumbled, and then moaned when the palm around his prick squeezed a little harder. 

Eskel was barely aware of any of the others. His world had shrunk to the words Ivo whispered in his ear, the grip of Junod’s hands on his hips and the huge girth of the cock burning its way into him. The stretch began to lessen, and he finally felt the brush of Junod’s balls against the back of his, the fat head of his cock had to be buried somewhere in Eskel’s stomach. It felt like his lungs were competing for space. 

It didn’t matter though. Eskel relaxed onto Ivo below him and closed his eyes; he experienced that same sensation of their heart’s beating as one, except this time he felt it deep inside like Junod was in control, and his body had no choice but to move in time with him. There was no fear, only safety and a bone-deep well of pleasure as that thick cock began to drag in and out of him. The bear leaned forward; his barreled chest pressed to Eskel’s back as he alternated between sharing kisses with Ivo and mouthing at Eskel’s neck. “Oh, cub, you feel so good,” Junod whispered, “giving yourself to me like this. Letting me share you with Ivo. _Fuck,_ yeah.”

With every roll, Eskel’s cock ground over Ivo’s stomach, his moans and gasps falling into rhythm with Junod’s movements. Every thrust forward met with a cry or whimper that was driving the others into a fervour. Vanik came hard into Grayson’s fist, leaning forward to pump his pulsing cock through the other’s grip until he was shuddering with oversensitivity, and Grayson spilt over the presented cleft of his ass with a satisfied growl. 

Junod’s hands slid lower, scooping around Eskel’s thighs, and lifted him to meet his hips. He moved harder, faster, relentlessly grinding across Eskel’s prostate until the cub was crying out in tortured ecstasy. Louder, more desperate, than he’d been with them so far. His entire body quaked through his orgasm, cock untouched for the slight friction against Ivo’s belly, and Junod tilted his head back with a pleased growl. 

Eskel clung onto Ivo below him as Junod continued to fuck into him, his hole clamping down on his cock, pleasure so overwhelming now it bordered on pain. And then he felt it, the shudder of that huge prick in his channel, the surge of wet heat that filled him up just as he’d requested. If Eskel weren’t completely spent, he would’ve come again from the sensation alone. Hot, and full, his belly swelling a little from the sheer volume of come and the size of the prick buried deep. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he flopped weakly onto Ivo’s chest. The world was a haze, and he didn’t resist as he was moved gently onto the bed.

“Eskel?” Junod spoke softly, wiping his hair from his face, “going to clean you up; let you rest for a bit.” Eskel only grumbled and allowed his legs to flop open when that warm cloth wiped around him. The dull ache in his ass made him want to float in oblivion, his entire body consumed in a warm throb of contentment. He drifted off to sleep under the blankets and woke to the smell of lunch.

He ate eagerly from their Vanik’s hands, but they didn’t feed him to bursting this time. Grayson nudged him onto his back after only one course, pushing his legs over his body and Eskel’s eyes rolled back the moment he felt that warm tongue lap around his hole. Saliva was soon replaced with oil, and he moaned wantonly as another thick cock slid into him. Grayson held onto Eskel’s ankles as he fucked into him, and Eskel looked down the slope of his chest and stomach to see that fat prick pounding into his hole over the swell of his own balls. “Oh fuck, oh _fuck,_ oh, fuck.” Eskel threw his head back and grabbed onto his own cock, pumping it in time with Grayson until he came with a low, guttural moan.

He was still full of Grayson when Vanik leaned back against the pillows and crooked his finger in a come hither gesture. Eskel felt Grayson’s spend dripping down his thighs as he crawled shakily up the bed. Vanik took him by the chin with a hungry little smirk. “You’ve been a charming pillow princess,” he purred, thumb stroking gently at Eskel’s scars. “I think you need to work a little harder for your pleasure, cub.” One of his large hands encircled his cock at the base and held it up. “On you get.”

Eskel blinked in momentary confusion when he dropped his mouth, but Vanik pulled his chin up again. With a little guidance, he managed to wiggle into place, his thighs spread either side of Vanik’s lap and the fat head of his cock pressed to his hole. Vanik held his cock until Eskel had sunk an inch, and then took his hips to guide him lower. Grayson’s come, and the leftover oil made a filthy noise as Vanik slid home, and the bear groaned in delight now that he’d finally got to stake his claim.

Eskel gripped his shoulders and rolled his hips forward, searching for his pleasure, amber eyes rolling back. “Good boy,” Vanik praised, holding one of Eskel’s hands while the other stayed on his shoulder. Eskel found his confidence quickly, and soon he was grinding on Vanik’s cock with his head thrown back in abandon. Vanik sucked and kissed his beautiful tits as they bounced, nipples pebbled, while he stroked the straining cock that flicked up against Eskel’s belly with each of his athletic rolls. This time, Vanik came first, driven by the musk of the others curling from Eskel’s skin, and the sheer wanton sight of the wolf arched and moaning. Eskel’s eyes blew wide in pleasure as he was filled, and it took only a few squeezes of Vanik’s palm to bring him off too.

They praised him, kissed him, held him, urging him to surrender every part of his body as they each came back to play with him. He did so gladly. Everything about sex was intoxicating; the scent of his lovers, the sound and sensation of their ecstasy, the moment of euphoria as they peaked, sometimes together. He liked being filled with their come, liked how filthy and wanted he felt when it dripped out of him, and they grumbled, low and sated. When his mind was clear, he thought of what Geralt would feel like beneath him, how he’d sound, how he’d smell. How he would spread Geralt’s milky white thighs and fuck his fat, ruddy cock into his perfect hole, then bend over so Geralt could slake his lust in return.

His day ended as it had begun, with Ivo and Junod. This time he lay on his back, with Ivo riding his cock with graceful ripples of his body, and Junod’s huge cock rocking slowly into his mouth. Junod held his hands above his head, their fingers intertwined, whispering praise the whole time, telling him good he was, how beautiful, how special. _Our wolf cub._ And Eskel believed it. He could see the unbridled adoration in Junod’s eyes as he gazed down at him. 

Tomorrow the bears had to prepare Eskel for a different kind of sex though; the kind where he was expected to surrender his agency and trust completely. The ropes lay coiled on the table in the evening, along with a smooth plug made of ivory.


End file.
